Troubles

I strum my fingers over the strings, enjoying the last few minutes of playing before the owner has to close up the shop. He’s currently cleaning the floor. He’s already been over here, and I kindly lifted my feet when he passed me. He just laughed at me.

I’ve been trying to play the tune I played last week. Last time I was in here, I sat down and just started playing it. It sounded good. I have no idea where it came from, it just came.
And now, I can’t find it again.

“Alright, Frank. Time to close up,” Brian says, slapping my back with what I assume is a cloth. He usually wipes off the guitar after he’s hung it back up on the wall. I’d rather he didn’t. If he kept all my dirty hand- and fingerprints all over it, no one would ever buy it.

A song pops into my head, and I immediately start playing the chorus for Closing Time by Semisonic – to the best of my ability, which isn’t all that good.
Brian laughs.

“Frank. A private concert isn’t gonna make me close up later.” He grins down at me when I turn around to look at him with my puppy-dog eyes.
It doesn’t work, though.
It never does.

I carefully pull the strap over my head and hand him the guitar, making sure he’s got a good grip of her before I let go.
I stay seated and stare at him as he hangs her up on the wall, wipes her off and straightens her up. He turns around to face me.

“Alright. Get home, Frank,” he laughs at me. I grin back at him, before he walks past me towards the counter. I quickly step over to the guitar, stroke her strings once more before I turn and walk away from her.
Even though Brian wipes her down to make her look all pretty, I’ll still leave my fingerprints on her before I leave.

I never make promises, because I’m too afraid of not keeping them, but no matter what happens; that guitar is gonna be mine.

Some day.