Posted on

Old Guy Playing Guitar

People liked his trimmed white beard, pegged him as someone who knew all the right tunes. They liked his price: seventy-five an hour with a two-hour minimum. They liked his silence: he never chatted up the attendees. But that day, they detested everything. Elliot had arrived at 10 AM, the church empty, the hearses nowhere […]
Subscribe now to read the Wild Musette Journal free online, or via book or ebook. Already a subscriber? Log in.