Published: Oct 19, 2020
He played bass guitar, even though he was not any good. He played with his eyes closed and sweat on his face. Simon did not mind that he couldn't play worth a damn. He worked the strings with intensity, plucking with all his might. His finger tips hummed for hours after he was done.
His friends watched with hands over their ears, but smiles on their faces. The spectacle was worth the torture.
"So good, yet so awful," someone would lean over and yell into their neighbor's covered ear.
"That's his point, I think," they replied, just barely audible over the thumping riffs.
Simon jumped and swayed and moved in rhythms no one else heard. It was intoxicating.