Victor and I are in the living room. He sits on the ottoman as I am cross legged on the carpet staring at his shiny, black, guitar. His fingers are playing with the thick cords as I fiddle with the white pick in my hand. Victor's eyes are focused on mine as his finger strum. He doesn't even have to look at the strings. As he plays, he tells me about the song.
"I wrote it myself." he smiles brightly. "It doesn't exactly have a name for I call it '?'." I am fascinated in his band and how he learned the instrument. He tells me how his band will one day, he will get them signed. I just smile and tell him I know he can do it for I am positive they will be.
-Ann
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