A basic guitar.
The first time we crossed paths the Euros seemed perfectly normal. The dude, a skinny, shaved-headed individual tugging on a cigarette, and the girl, sitting there quietly on her towel, both feigned interest in our dogs—asking the typical ‘what kind?’ ‘how old?’ and ‘what’s her name?’
Perfectly normal.
On the way back . . . → Read More: The Guitar Dude
