boys and guitars

they stare at their fingers with furrowed brows, trying to place them in their intended places on the grid. some purse their lips in concentration, like they are drinking out of straws. others press their lips together, as if they have eaten their lips. they rave about the sublimity of pink floyd and led zepplin and stairway to heaven. there are toe tappers and there are heel tappers. not always to the beat, sometimes to a nervous rhythm.