Burke chided himself silently as he tuned his guitar. He could hear the words of his mother saying “you always speak before you think son.” Impetuous, she had called him. Burke felt he was spirited, eager or some positive adjective. Either way he was in another predicament. This one wouldn’t kill him any quicker than most adventures he lived.
This jerk in the bar put down $1000 to say Burke could not continue to make music on his own without repeating a song for twelve hours. Burke wasn’t sure he could, but when the guy began to verbally abuse Sydney, Burke’s dream girl who was a waitress in the bar Burke’s lot was cast.
Now he scrambled to think of what songs he could play between now and 7 pm tonight.