"Oh no sir… I’d never do that!" the Marine blushed. "Well," he added, "thanks for your time and have a really good show."
I was stunned. This was not what I expected. This may have been a lean, mean fighting machine but it was as docile as a daisy. In fact this was a fair specimen from an America not found in the Southern California I grew up in. He was polite and respectful as all get out. A good kid.
Three-and-a-half years have passed. The guitar sleeps safely in its leather case in my closet. But where is that good kid now?