Danny Marsh sat on the stump of an old oak tree. He strummed a few chords on his battered guitar, making enough noise to draw a small crowd. Then he started to sing the blues.
Along came Deputy Will Ballast, who tapped Danny on the shoulder and waved the onlookers on their way.
“Stop playin’ that damn thing or I’ll run you in for disturbin’ the peace.”
“My guitar can’t stand you, Deputy,” Danny said. “It ain’t gonna stay here no longer.”
And he stalked away, humming a blues tune and thumping on the guitar as though it were a drum.