A twelve year-old kid sneaks into his older brother’s room down in the basement.
In an immaculate black tolex-covered guitar case resting on the floor lays the object of his fascination.
Confident that his oldest sibling is out of the house for the time being, he unbuckles the case and as usual forgets to open the rear-side buckle of the sturdy case bearing the logo: Gibson. The gleam of gold delights his curious eye. Inside lay an instrument of a nature derived from what had been the stuff of hearsay: photographs, television …record albums.
Case fully open, the boy gazes upon the object: a wine red triple pick-up Gibson solidbody guitar, complete with gold-plated hardware. It sits there snugly in its pink velvet-lined case, as if to suggest…Boy, do you have ANY idea of what I am? I mean…look at me for chrissakes! Do you have any idea whatsoever…of what to do with one as well-crafted as me? Close my case right now you little punk! You’re in new waters and you don’t even have a compass…