Clarity walked down the unfamiliar street. She had just moved to Ireland, and she had no idea where she was going. She walked, bumping into people, until she came upon a store.

Great Guitars, she read. She nodded, keeping in mind the location of the store. She had always wanted to try to play a guitar. She never got around to it.

She rounded the corner and stopped. There, on the steps of some unimportant store, was a boy. He gripped his guitar, as if it were his first born child.

His guitar spit out random melodies. He smiled at the guitar, humming, as if he knew the lyrics but wouldn't sing them. Clarity looked at his guitar case, which was open, asking, begging for tips. There was only nickels and quarters in the case.

But the boy still smiled. He was enjoying this, whether or not he got any money.

The boy stopped in brutally an looked up at Clarity, the smile on his face lightly fading.

"That was great," Clarity spoke softly, barely above a whisper. The boy looked from his guitar to Clarity, as if comparing the two

"Thanks. Are you new in town," the boy said with his thick Irish accent, as did almost everyone in this whole place.

"Yeah, how did you know?"

"Well, you have an... American? accent. And, also, you would have talked in Irish. Most people do here," he said. He laughs as he talked. As if it were the most obvious thin in the world.

"Yeah, well, I'm Clarity," Clarity said as she held out her hand. The boy gladly took it and Clarity blushed.

"Goodbye, now, Clarity," the boy said when Clarity told him she had to leave.

"May I ask YOUR name, boy?" Clarity smirked. How could he forget to introduce himself.

The boy shook his head, then went back to his guitar. Clarity gave up, after two minutes of glaring at him.

She shrugged an went back to exploring her new home.

Notes