He almost bumped right into me on the sidewalk, a cell phone held to an ear with one hand, his other arm cradling a fiddle case, all the while striding rapidly down the hill towards Broadway. Suddenly he stopped and turned, I thought maybe to apologize, but he didn’t say anything for a while, just looked me all over, me with my knapsack and guitar in its beat up case, he just standing there without saying anything long enough that I started to get edgy and move away, but then he asked could I play the classics?
I stood up tall and told him I could play fairly well, could sing too, knew the classics but didn’t play covers.
“Oh, an artist, yeah, me too, I don’t do covers either, except when I’m in need of a paycheck, and right now my guitarist is stone-drunk somewhere and I didn’t know if you’d be interested in covering for his paycheck in forty-two minutes.”
I told him if he could get me something to eat within forty-one minutes, and if I could perform just one of my own songs on stage, he had himself a sober guitar playing back up singer.
He laughed, said you never say no to your last resort or to your first real opportunity, and we walked together to the honkytonks on Broadway, carrying our instruments to the one where, in forty minutes, we had a gig.
The prompt word for Six Sentence Stories this week is “resort”. My entry this week features a character seen before in Nashville Dreams, and in Mother Church, both 99 word flash responses for Carrot Ranch. I am continuing her story in these six sentences. As always, thank you Denise from girlieontheedge for the prompt. Go to the link up to participate or to read other responses from the Six Sentence gang. Join in!