Vintage

"Gibson wants to give you a Les Paul."

Skwisgaar looked up into the hazel eyes of his manager, fingers flying over the strings of his Explorer. He knew the small man wanted to say more, so he just plucked away, staring expectantly into the bespectacled face.

"They want you to play it, uh…at the next show."

"I won'ts dos it."

The Swede's playing grew faster, angrier. He'd played nothing but his beloved Explorer ever since the day he'd found it. The beautiful, black-and-white lacquered guitar almost never left his calloused hands.

"Skwisgaar, Gibson would really appreciate it if—"

"I plays mine Explorer!"

"Yes, I know, but they're launching a new line of vintage-style Les Pauls and—"

"So, dey shoulds get littles Toki to dos it!"

Vintage. That was for dildoes. Dildoes and grandpas. Skwisgaar was neither of those things. He would not hear any more of this talk of trading part of his body to play a vintage piece of crap. He closed his eyes and focused in on the way his fingers slid up and down the strings, each note reverberating within his being. As the music rose and swelled, he lost all awareness of his surroundings.

He was not aware that a vintage man still remained, also lost in the soaring ecstasy of the riff.