Drabble Practice
Let's write a drabble, as a mid afternoon pick me up. Ready, set, Go:
Marie hung around the guitar shop long after her lesson ended, clutching the neck of her secondhand acoustic in one slick, sweaty hand. Sitting on the tall wooden stool near the racks (meant for paying customers and not girls sick from love), she talked to Gary until the ‘Open’ sign clicked off.
They spoke of earnest things, mostly, while Gary assembled riffs on his electric Ibanez and Marie pretended it was the soundtrack to whatever was happening, right there in that store. She watched him play the Beatles and “Summer of ’69,” her own fingers resting hesitant on the strings of her beat up Takamine.
She imagined if their lives were a movie, they’d already be in love.
It's technically 118 words, but when I pared it down to 100 words, I didn't like it as well. So anyway, Drabble-esque.
Ta,
Pony.
Marie hung around the guitar shop long after her lesson ended, clutching the neck of her secondhand acoustic in one slick, sweaty hand. Sitting on the tall wooden stool near the racks (meant for paying customers and not girls sick from love), she talked to Gary until the ‘Open’ sign clicked off.
They spoke of earnest things, mostly, while Gary assembled riffs on his electric Ibanez and Marie pretended it was the soundtrack to whatever was happening, right there in that store. She watched him play the Beatles and “Summer of ’69,” her own fingers resting hesitant on the strings of her beat up Takamine.
She imagined if their lives were a movie, they’d already be in love.
It's technically 118 words, but when I pared it down to 100 words, I didn't like it as well. So anyway, Drabble-esque.
Ta,
Pony.