Slender. He was a slip of a man with a ruggedness and a raw, un-nerving passion all too big for his frame. A stoic, local music scene cowboy. His face was weathered beyond its years and I could sense the smell of cigarettes lingering at the tips of his fingers and stale in his clothes. His hat cast a shadow, obscuring only intermittently the vulnerability in his eyes as he lifted his voice to the strum of his guitar. Conviction. Honesty. Soul-wrenched, long-hour-drawn, naked, urgent words. His performance more like a spiritual unburdening, hanging heavy in the room like the humidity on his brow.
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