Enjoy an Excerpt from Gutter Punk, Book 3

The street musician looked too young to produce that voice, but it was hard to tell with folks on the street.

Probably in his twenties, his hair was a passel of
multicolored dreadlocks that sprouted in all directions covering his forehead. His lower face sported a scruffy beard that hid his mouth so effectively that it was visible only when he opened his lips to sing.

A variety of piercings graced the fellow’s face and ears. Tattoos decorated his neck and arms. The tats that Mike could see appeared to be either arcane symbols or small rows of scripted writing.

The tee shirt he wore was full of holes and
ripped at the neck. He wore cargo pants that may have been made from fabric with a camo print, but the pattern had long ago faded away.

The feeling put into the Dylan lyrics made the guy seem older. He had a decent voice and although Mike wasn’t a musician, he knew when someone could play. The guitarist used a combination of picking and strumming the six strings, his fingering precise.

He finished the tune and the folks listening nearby applauded. A few more dollars landed in the guitar case as they wandered off one by one. The street musician nodded his head in thanks.

“Come on,” Quinn said to Mike. “I’ll introduce you.”