OFFICAL TELEVISED TRANSCRIPT:

Good evening from Broadcast Information and Entertainment. These following conversations are made upon the subject of the Dragons d'Alacala and their indefinite servitude from the view point of ordinary citizens. Our objective is simple: to shine light upon the public and how they view this certain matter of public policy. All of these interviews are age appropriate so children are not discouraged from listening. With the magic of television, we are able to deliever and preserve this moment of history for future generations.

We hope you will be listening with open ears and open minds.

TRANSCRIPT TO BE READ:

Good evening, my name is Ezekiel Finch from Broadcast Information and Entertainment. I had the oppertunity to interview three men who started a music business and met a young dragon early on. On behalf of BIE, I hope you shall be listening with open ears and open minds.

START TAPE:

"Yeah I've met one before. I think it was that showcase at the guitar shop, the one on Madison and Ninth Street."

"Braddigan, it was Madison and Tenth."

"Thanks man. So anyway we were having this big opening and everyone who could hold a guitar was there. I saw this kid was lookin' real long and hard at this guitar, nothin' special, I mean I just finished my music history stuff in college and I'd know if a guitar was special or not. I asked him if he'd want to play and God! His face looked as if I was Jesus Christ back from the dead! So I took it down and gave it to him. He trembled with it in his hands, as if he was afraid that it would turn to dust. I told him that it's okay if he wanted to play it. And what happened next? He played music and what came out of that thing was beautiful!"

"A real work of art from that kid."

"Thanks Chetro."

"No prob Braddigan."

"So I just watched him play and I tried to stop being so awestruck but then I watched his fingers and it was poetry in motion! It's like the kid learned classical technique from birth! The tips of his fingers just barely touched the strings but the guitar just sang."

"Like how a person can be little but have a big voice."

"Took me years to figure out how to play like that! All the books, all the lessons, all the practice; and this kid played like he was some professor from Ithaca in the States and he was, like what, sixteen?"

"That's what he'd say."

"Thanks Repete. So when he was done, everyone just cheered and clapped for the kid, and it was like he was embarrassed to be in the shop. He tried to bolt out the door but I asked him if he wanted lessons."

"He said he didn't have money for lessons."

"I told him it'd be on the house, no cost."

"Kid said that he didn't wanna be a burden to Braddigan or somethin' or other."

"Then I told him that it be an honor to teach someone with that much talent and skill. He just brightened up when I said that. Like his eyes, they looked so bleak and then they just shone that one moment. So we agreed to have lessons every Tuesday at six. The first lesson, I looked into the practice room and he was just staring at himself and lookin' real nervous. I went into the practice room for the first time and something stank really bad."

"Like rotten fruit and sweat."

"I think he smelled it."

"Thanks guys. I never told him anything but I could tell that he was uncomfortable. He tried to leave on the first day but I suggested that we go have lessons in the showcase room, where we do all the sales and stuff. He felt better after that and I couldn't smell anything after that. He never got any better, I don't see how he could, but his taste in music got better. He started to pickup folk, jazz, even classical!"

"Uhggh."

"Hey Chetro, even classical sounded good when played by that kid."

"True."

"People would get confused why this kid in dirty shorts and a ripped shirt would just grab a guitar off a wall and plop himself on the stool." He pointed to a corner of the room we were in and looked at a wooden stool with a music stand next to it.

"They'd even threaten to throw a punch if he didn't beat it."

"But I would come into the room and take a seat right next to him and they would back off."

"Usually they'd just open their mouths like a fish."

"I never understood why people got so irritated by that kid, but then some customer told me I didn't have to serve Dragons here. I didn't know what he meant but it hit me. The smell, the clothes, the money, the eyes, the embarrassment. He was one of them. But it didn't matter to me."

"But it got real bad that one day."

"So one day I told the kid that I needed to get some new sheet music from my office, I leave him for a sec, and I hear all this yelling. I come running back and I see this guy yellin' at him tell him to drag his 'drake ass outta here because we don't serve drake trash like him.'"

"I told him that we can serve whoever we want."

"I told him that we don't serve trash like him"

"And I gave the guy a nice hook to his face and threw him out."

"We didn't pay attention to the rantin' goin' outside after that."

"So I went back to the kid and he was crying. But it wasn't the baby crying when the blanket is missing. It was the silent crying that you have when you're at a funeral. He hung his head like a flag and the tears just fell in big drops. He didn't make a single sound. It was like summer rain in the Tropics."

Braddigan paused as he looked longingly at a painting of a beach.

"For the rest of the day he didn't even wanna touch a guitar. He didn't speak, didn't look at me, didn't even look like he was even with us. He just cried. And then I just hugged him and cried with him."

Braddigan sighed before continuing, "When he played, he glowed and even smiled. He was a different person when he touched a guitar because— because when you play music you're not an aristocrat or a Dragon; no, when you play music you're a musician. He was a Dragon but that doesn't change anything. He didn't look like a Dragon to me from day one. He looked like a musician. He can choose whatever goddamn guitar he wants because he can. He's got the talent, the skill, the want to have it. And you know what? He deserves it, after the hell he's been livin'."

The bell hanging on the doorframe jingles cheerily and the three all turn to face the door.

"Hey! What's up man!"

A boy wearing a dark green shirt and khaki shorts gave a sheepish smile and goes up to the three interviewees.

"Hey Elias! Go ahead take your pick, I'll be with you in a sec."

The boy smiles eagerly and dashes off to a wall of guitars. He chooses a dark brown acoustic, as dark as his eyes.