Kerrrang!!!
Good grief. Where do I start? Well it’s a solid body, flat top. An original Gibson Les Paul ‘cherry sunburst’ from circa 1958. Not one of the turn of the century re-issues, we are talking an original. In near mint condition. Sure there were a few knocks and scratches here and there, but given its age and its lifestyle this was to be expected. He never tired of telling me about its previous owners, how many bands it had been on tour with. Always strange 1960s bands I’d never heard of, edgy early rock and roll, or so I’m told.
He won it in an online auction that he stayed up all night over, nervously twitching every time someone else made a bid. In the end bidding frenzy took over, and he spent all his savings and half the rent on it. I couldn’t believe he’d drag me in to it, I mean, leave me in debt over one of his obsessions? I even caught him waxing it once. I thought he was up to something else, if you know what I mean? Sitting on the edge of the bed and facing away from me, he had his shirt off, and was rubbing so furiously he was breaking a sweat. I’m not sure if I was relieved or upset that it was the guitar he was polishing.
I’m not sure what broke my temper in the end. Maybe it’s because no one was ever allowed to touch the damn thing? Or could it simply have been because he spent more time on it than me? Or maybe it was just the plain absurdity that I’d never seen him even play it? I can see you are looking impatient. To answer your question, yes, your Honour, I recognise it. And yes, I can confirm that Exhibit ‘B’ was the assault weapon.
God damn, I hate that fucking guitar.
