The Colour of the Blues


The coffee shop was full and bustling, the windows steamed up from the numerous cups of cappuccino that were being handed across the counter creating the humid environment. In a far corner, an elderly gent with a well worn, tanned face, deftly picked at the strings on his guitar that looked well travelled and older than him. Yet his fingers had the dexterity of a teenager.

The sound washed over the crowd and under every table feet were tapping. Some stared wistfully as the music brought up their own personal memories from times gone by. He slowed the pace and started picking out an old blues tune, his timing perfect, for a few moments the cafe hushed and fell under his spell. Even the walls took on the colour of tears, so powerful was his music.



Enjoy the short story? Then please check out my novels on Kindle. S C Richmond

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