|
God's Guitar Justin Stanchfield The Angel of Rock appeared precisely at 7:14 A.M. on the second Sunday of November, and stood patiently beside Matt Torrence's bed, his scuffed leather jacket hanging open, the tips of his billowy wings brushing the floor. Matt opened a blurry eye, willing to believe the strange creature with the neon blue eyes was a by-product of too much beer and too little sleep. "You'll find the guitar at Bruce's Pawn on Arizona Street." The angel's voice was sweet as a Strat with the tone rolled off. "Who are you?" The angel plucked a rumpled soft-pack of Camels out of his pocket and knocked one loose, pulling the cigarette free with his mouth. It flared, the tip cherry-red as he took a long drag, letting the smoke roll out his nostrils in wispy curls, and the scent was of incense, sandalwood and Turkish tobacco. Matt sat up a little higher, his mouth dry as cathedral dust, and tried again. "Who are you?" "You'll find the guitar," the angel repeated, "on Arizona Street." He took a last drag off the Camel and snubbed it out against the night-stand. Butterflies rushed skyward where ashes might have been. The angel blew a smoke ring and stepped through it |
插件设计: zasq.net
本帖子中包含更多资源
您需要 登录 才可以下载或查看,没有帐号?立即注册
x
|