Harold stood face to face with his oldest desire and stand is almost all Harold did.

It wasn't just about finding a guitar, it was about finding a guitar that said something about Harold.

Unfortunately, this guitar said, when I get back to Georgia, that woman gonna feel my pain.

This one said something along the lines of what?

Yes, these pants are Lycra, these said, I'm very sensitive, very caring and I have absolutely no idea how to play the guitar.

I'm compensating for something.

Guess what?

And then Harold saw it, a damaged and terribly mistreated sea foam green fender, staring back at him despite its obvious maladies.

The guitar spoke with conviction and swagger.