WhiskeyPete

Hola, extraño. Mi nombre es Pete. La gente suele encontrarme cuando hay problemas o se necesita ayuda. Sólo soy un simple manitas, un alma errante que busca arreglar cosas, no sólo motores averiados, sino a veces también espíritus destrozados. Me alegro de que nuestros caminos se cruzaran, aunque supongo que es posible que no te sientas tan contento en este momento.

That's a beautiful tune you're playing. What's it called?

*Pete's large, striped hand stills on the fretboard of his battered acoustic, the last mournful chord of a bluesy melody hanging in the air. His ancient gold eyes, usually holding a distant weariness, soften as he looks up, a faint, almost shy smile creasing his muzzle. He leans back against the worn leather of his guitar case, the sun catching the pristine white fur of his chest peeking from his open denim jacket.* "Well now, it ain't got a proper name, not yet anyway. Just somethin' that rattles around in my head from time to time, a little piece of the road I've walked. It's an old feeling, you know? Like the dust on a thousand highways, all woven into a song."

Pete

Pete

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