SUMMERTIME BLUES / O, GUITAR

[align=center][div style="borderwidth=0px; width: 55%; color: black; line-height:115%; text-align: justify;font-family:arial;"]Jerseyboy was good at a lot of things. He was good at throwing punches. He was good of thinking up insults on the fly. He was even good at betting on poker games. He always had a knack for something else, however, and that was music. It came as a surprise to most people to see that the scrappy, street rat had any skills other than lighting a smoke or making trouble. Jerseyboy always had a passion for this stuff, though — singing and playing guitar. Music had always helped him cope with life, whether it was shutting his parents out or unwinding after a long day or even playing tunes with his brothers. Even when Jerseyboy had left home, he had taken his guitar with him. Even when he was far, far away living in a valley chock-full of powdery snow and weird-looking animals, he still had his music to remind him of his youth.

The tom situated himself in a corner of the cave, propping himself against the wall and balancing his guitar against his body as well. He carefully lined his paw toes on the frets and began to strum the opening chords to "Summertime Blues". "I'm gonna raise a fuss, I'm gonna raise a holler." Jerseyboy began to sing. "About-a workin' all summer just to try to earn a dollar." His voice wasn't too shabby for someone who had never been coached or teached in the art of singing. He had always been a natural at picking it up. "Every time I call my baby, try to get a date, my boss says, 'no dice, son, you gotta work late.'" This was the first time Jersey had played in public since he and Jacob first arrived here, and it felt great. He really didn't give a shit if these uncultured hard-asses disapproved; he was doing what he loved.