This is the story of my ukulele.
I think they swindled me when I bought you. Those Indians. Before I had you I had my guitar. It was red, and bigger than you. Lucky for you it broke. So the Indians weren't the first to swindle me; it was the Chinese. Those squinty eyed lookalikes. But anyways...
I bought you for seven hundred bucks. A pretty considerable amount of money for something that people often mistake for a kid's toy. It took me two years to learn to play you, and I'm still learning. I'm a slow learner. But I'm hoping that one day you'll make me a fortune. One day, hopefully, people will pay me even more money to hear me play you. Well if not, I'll simply sell you. Nothing personal my little friend.
One day the sound of your four strings will echo across some great hall which will be filled with maybe hundreds of people, or preferably more, assuming that my song writing skills improve. And they will - and my voice too.
I bought you ten years ago. I remember now. As I play you in this terrible place, in this dark corner, I start to see you, perhaps, are the only thing that I have ever held this close to my heart. As I brush my fingers across your strings you bring me enough comfort to make me, momentarily, forget about this cold concrete floor I have to sleep on.
I play you to people who pass me as I stand on the corner of a street in some part of town. They look at me with pity. But most people in town tend to give more coins. They even give paper money. And it's all thanks to you my ukulele. Although you have lost your brown colour, I still recognize you by touch. I know where your strings are by heart. I don't have to look at you anymore when I play you because I have gotten quite good at playing you.
I bought you many years ago. Every time I play you, I close my eyes, and imagine my torn, sun scorched clothes morphing into a beautiful tailored black suit. I imagine singing to millions of people, holding candles as I perform a beautiful song for them in a huge stadium, with the lights off. I imagine girls screaming in tears of adoration at our music.
I bought you so many, many years ago.
I didn't drink. I never drank back then! It was you who made me drink! I thought you would help me live out my dreams. I thought you would bring me fame, and money, but all you've done is made my fingers bleed; my nails broken, and croaked. My voice has turned to shit. No it was always shit. I just never wanted to believe it. Every coin they tossed at me seems to have disappeared. The bar lady seems to have taken it all from me. Swindled again by niggers. I'll kill the bitch! I smell bad. Fuck! I wreck of piss and shit. It's so bad. Very bad. When was the last time I washed myself?
I'll sell you! You useless piece of shit! Tomorrow I'll sell you!
And if no one wants you, I'll break you into a million pieces I swear. But I will never forget how I once loved you.
