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 from our short beach walk, as we were still maybe 50 to 100 yards away, the dude inexplicably picked up his guitar and angrily flung it into the sand. This seemed at odds with anybody’s usual fondness for their guitar, so obviously the addition of the third female (who hadn’t been there before, and had apparently introduced two guitars, since they’d been absent before) had set off some weird triangulating quarrel.
As we walked closer, the dude stormed off toward the cars, away from the beach. Before he got halfway across the dry sand he returned, picked up the previously tossed guitar, and proceeded to smash it into the log. He hurled it against he log until the poor guitar was tattered and obviously beyond repair. He then stormed up the beach, tugging heavily on his cigarette.
The girls merely stayed put. Not a word had been uttered between the three of them. The girls had slight questioning smiles, but otherwise their expressions looked as if they were admiring a mildly interesting goldfish in a nondescript tank.
The guitar was one you could get new for a hundred bucks from any music store, or for considerably less from a pawnshop, but still.
Ok edit guy who doesn’t need his shit edited.
And what exactly is that supposed to mean? That this particular posting is boring? That you’re bummed you don’t have a guitar? You’ve had goldfish in the past that died and feel a distant kinship with these two speechless females?
That you should have someone else read your rants before you post.
You once told me that you didn’t need anyone editing your ish.
It wasn’t a goldfish it was a Catostomus.