“Sometimes Callum held the guitar like a newborn, cradling, delicate, other times it was like a lover, rising and falling beneath his fingers. He knew how to read and work an audience. He knew when to be dark and somber, and when to be emotional and gregarious. He knew, somehow, the intentions of the people before him, he knew what they needed, and if he was able, he gave it to them. That night was pure magic.”
Book:When Autumn Leaves