He had his feet up on the low balcony wall. He was slouched into the just-starting-to-get -funky easy chair he’d pulled out there when she moved out.

His old spanish guitar was across his midsection, horizontally. His right hand picked a pattern so lazy it seemed to lull his left into a fitful near sleep.

A half pint bottle of tequila, two thirds empty, was on its side on the roofing material floor. Next to it was a six pack of Olympia in bottles, two beers left.

The sun was almost down and the sky had blossomed in a false spring of pinks and blues and purples. The alcohol made him feel warm, but the early evening air was cool on his face.
Today’s song a very impromptu solo improvisation:

You See the Sky? The Sky’s in Love with You