Short Story: The Traveling Bard

© Johannes Evans 2019

It was just him and his guitar. It had always been him and his guitar for as long as he could now remember, and though some might have called it lonely he was comfortable and happy in it. He’d always had his guitar, and she’d served him well through his years.

He carried her on his back, the strap a dark red that, over the course of much time, had become well-weathered. The case was white of faux leather…