fingers move on the neck of his guitar. she ponders the way they would race across her body.
a girl's guide to a pre-mature rock-star lies in the hands of music gods-- some hold false hope like plastic picks while the riff lingers in the air, swirling the beat around wooden drumsticks. she lets the cigarette flicker. ambiance stands alone with the rhythm of a thousand tiny bells echoing like screams lost with the feed-back.