“You’re Harrison Ford Jett aren’t you?”
“Maybe.” Harrison didn’t want to commit to this stranger on the hill. He’d seen this trick before.
“I think you are, sir. And I also believe this is yours.” He holds out the guitar. “I’m an artist, see? This isn’t mine.”
And indeed Harrison could play the guitar just beautifully.
—–
In a parallel world, Harrison watches Greg Ogden’s masterful strokes from afar and wishes he could paint.
Sunklands 