“So when I see someone young, struggling, but still kind… I pay attention.”
I swallowed saliva.
“What does that mean?”
“It means I want to help you.”
My heart started beating faster.
“Help how?”
“What do you want to do with your life?”
“Music,” I said right away.
“What instrument?”
“Guitar.”
He smiled.
“Good.”
The limousine stopped in front of a large brick building in the center.
A sign outside said,
Whitmore Arts Foundation
Inside were rehearsal rooms, recording equipment and a small stage.
It looked like another world.
Whitmore turned to me.
“Do you have your guitar?”
“Back in my shop.”
“Let’s go for it.”
For illustrative purposes only
An hour later, I was sitting on the small stage with my old guitar.
Whitmore sat in the front row.
