A Gentle String Pluck

I walked back inside from the record shop as the streetlights came on, slipping across the floorboards to let my feet rest. By the dark wooden base of the guitar stand, an acoustic guitar was resting upright. Near its low tuning pegs, an unbent smooth wooden pick lay flat on the braided carpet edge. Pausing to measure the angle, I approached quietly. Using both flipper sleeves, I nudged the pointed wooden pick forward across the tight weave. It glided an inch until its beveled tip grazed the thick bronze low-E string. Thrumm. A deep, mellow vibration swept through the hollow wooden body and resonated right into the floor beneath me. I leaned back against the padded base, letting the warm hum fade into the quiet night.