~Stringed Hearts~ GEORGEBUR

2. Cold War

Part 2: Cold War

*George Davidson*

Wilbur and I continue to walk in the slippery sidewalk of the streets. I pressed my foot to the ground to avoid any of that to happen. We didn't talk too much. Guess, we just know each other's name and still act like complete strangers. He doesn't move a lip and so I. I'm just so bad at starting conversations.

But, I'll still do it anyway I don't want to labelled loner in the guitar sessions.

"I... I'm sorry for being quiet. To be honest, I'm not just good at starting conversations." I said, while scratching my nape.

"It's fine" he replied, with a cold voice and a blank expression.

Oh, yeah. I really sucks at starting conversations, and what did I just say, is that an apology or an appetizer. Grahhh, and the worst part of it is it feels like it was smacked right to my face.

Are we here?

We stopped right in a small building and I looked to the large sign in the upper part of a mahogany door. I don't know if this human have eyes, cause you can really see the large text of Schlatt's Guitar Sessions in its white color.

"Yes Wilbur, we are here."

We entered the building with me (off course) opening the door for him. Wilbur may be cold as ice, but I still appreciate his efforts for making friends with a stranger like me.

As we entered through the door, my eyes flung open as I see how wide the hall is. Everything is in it's place and looks nice and clean. The chairs are arranged properly, the ventilation and lights are sufficient, and the sparkling wood-designed floor I think my shoes doesn't deserve to foot at. There is also stairs that lead to the second floor, maybe that is where the guitar sessions start.

Wilbur entered firmly without watching any sights inside the hall. I looked at the floor, slowly losing its beauty and sparkle as Wilbur take steps forward and going to the counter.

Poor Floor.

My shoes marks water as I followed Wilbur steps. No mud, no dirt. The man in the counter who looks like the same age of ours, focused scrolling to his phone, never bothered on the mess we made. He didn't even stared to us.

We arrived in the counter with Wilbur on my side. I stared at the name tag of the personnel in front of us. His name is Clay. Clay keeps busy scrolling to his phone, ignoring the two men in front of him. Growled with impatience, Wilbur knocked the counter, which attracted Clay's attention. He shifted his eyes on us, judging us head to toe before putting his phone back to his pockets.

Guess, he isn't cold afterall.

"Uhmm... Hi, I'm Clay, the cousin of the instructor. So sad he isn't here now, but let me check your guitar first before filling out your forms." Clay said, with a hard jolly voice.

Wilbur laid his guitar case first in the counter. It is zippered like mine and also color black with pockets for chords and pics. Clay open the zipper and snatch the guitar out of it. It flashed up on me. Its strings are sturdy and strong and it's well vanished hardwood are designed for lightweight and uniqueness.

Oh, there's also a brown umbrella inside.

"Ok, good. You passed, Next!"

I grabbed my guitar from my back and Wilbur removed his guitar from the counter. I placed my guitar gently, treating it like a golden artifact. Well it is. Clay unzipped my guitar case. His eyes enlarge as he opened the case, and his expression, makes Wilbur's eyes to peek.