Out of Touch

Mirrored from the latest entry in Daron's Guitar Chronicles.

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We had three regular tapas bars. There was the place where we had the gig, there was the place we had gone on the first night when I had arrived in Seville, and there was a place that the older flamenco crowd liked, one of the ones where regular jam/dance sessions broke out. Oddly enough, that was the place that had a radio behind the bar that they turned on to a station that played pop music in English from time to time.

By mid-July it was really too hot to busk outside in the afternoons. Not that we would have minded the heat ourselves, but no one would linger to listen or watch. So we left off going to the park entirely and concentrated on our evening gigs, two shows a week at Gloria’s school and, by then, two nights a week at the bar. It was one of those hot July afternoons when we were in the bar early for some reason. I was sitting with Orlando while he was talking to the bartender, a twenty-something woman with skinny arms but prodigious breasts. I wasn’t really listening to what they were saying since I could barely make out any of it anyway.

A song came on the radio. My ears perked up, something new, something that sounded kind of good…?

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