The Xbox cable brushes against the guitar strings. They mutter a cautious chirp from behind the TV. Frightened, the guitar blasts me with guilt and musical memories. Dazed I stagger back. Hesitant.
A deep ache rises from a forgotten place. Sorcery! That old stringed box works strong magic against my soul, begging to be heard again. But alas, my will proves stronger. Silence!
I turn my back on the rusty siren to bow before the mighty rectangle.
May your art never die.