It had rested in its hard-shell case for almost 60 years. The last time he took it out, demonstrators jammed up Fifth Avenue demanding a better tomorrow singing, “We Shall Overcome!”
And times were a-changing again.
He wondered if he could still use it. Slinging it onto his shoulder, he managed to hold it in position. His fingers refused to curl without causing crippling arthritic pain.
He was about to give up until it all cascaded over him: the cause, the hope, the girl. He played the old strings through the ache. Not his best performance, but that wasn’t the point.