The beautiful daily life of Black Light Salted Fish

6 o'clock in the evening, South Bank.

Jessica stood at the end of the bridge, looking at London's Big Ben and the Palace of Westminster on the other side. She took out her temporary ID from her pocket, took a look at it, and sighed. After entering the NA area, she had to rent a hotel room to fill in the temporary address information simply and crudely. But even so, the police still chatted with her for a long time, took photos and took fingerprints. Several hours passed before they allowed Ms. Jessica Drew, who had "drifted for many years," to leave.

Again, the current year is 1998, and if the time is pushed back ten or eight years, this method of stuffing money to get things done may not be feasible. But Jessica was indeed a London girl after all, and the information in the database matched up, and the matter was eventually resolved smoothly.

Maybe it was my pretty face that contributed to it?

After taking a bite of the hot dog, Jessica turned and left the bridge. Although the expedited process has been completed, it will take at least 10 days to send the documents after they are ready. During this time, I cannot run around. So she decided to buy a guitar first and take the first step in her career as a street performer. However, when she thought about having to go through another round to apply for a street performer certificate, she felt very irritated.

Hope it doesn't take too long.

She was used to paying service providers to do things for her, but now she did it herself. Jessica felt the rush for the first time in a long time. I was so busy today that I didn't even eat lunch or dinner. If it were an ordinary person, I might have fainted from exhaustion by now. When it comes to the entertainment industry, there are no service providers in the mercenary industry. After all, what does war have to do with entertainment?

Oh, and also, after writing a song, you have to go to the patent office to apply for copyright.

Lazy, so annoying.

As I thought about it, a burst of music floated into my ears.

She walked over while eating a hot dog and saw two young guys performing on the sidewalk in the distance. One played the electric guitar and the other played the keyboard. The music had a bossa nova style, which was very similar to what she had heard on the streets of Rio de Janeiro before. But soon, as soon as the keyboard player changed his tune, a touch of jazz began to join in. The guitarist weakened his playing just right at this time and gave up the main melody to his partner. The coordination was quite good.

However, the reaction of passers-by was mediocre. Almost no one wanted to stop and listen. Only a woman pushing a stroller stopped because her child was curious about musical instruments and music. Before Jessica could get closer, she threw down a few coins and left. The two musicians didn't care at all and continued to play music.

Ding!

Jessica also put in a few coins.

The curly guy who played the guitar smiled at her, turned around and muttered a few words to the keyboard player, and took over the main melody starting from the string bend at the end of the next section. The sun was gradually turning golden, and dappled light fell through the gaps between the treetops, filling the entire street, just as relaxed and comfortable as the guitarist's expression.

"Can I ask you a question?"

She waited until the performance was over before she took the initiative to step forward.

"Of course, what do you want to ask?"

"I also want to buy a guitar..." Jessica ate the remaining hot dogs in two mouthfuls, stuffed the packaging bag into her coat, and then took out a small notebook from the bag: "I mean the acoustic guitar. Do you know where there is a better musical instrument store on South Bank?”

"You want to buy a guitar?"

The curly-haired boy showed a handsome smile, like a standard sunny boy. Jessica was very familiar with this expression. In her previous life, when some of her piano friends met a beautiful girl and talked to her, they would enter this state of holding the piano and looking cool, and they would probably continue chatting for a while. One thing to say, this guy is indeed quite handsome. If it were an ordinary girl, he might start to feel a little jealous now, but she herself is definitely not one of them.

Glancing at the opponent's fingers that were about to move, Jessica directly held the notebook in front of her: "Yes, I can play the guitar, but I'm not familiar with South Bank. Maybe you would be willing to answer it for me?"

"What music do you play?" The curly boy obviously didn't intend to give up, and took the initiative to extend his right hand: "You are so beautiful. To be honest, there are not many girls who are beautiful and can play the guitar. Oh, by the way, uh, my name My name is Kevin, and this is my friend Mason. We both go to school at Morley College on the South Shore, so you’ve got the right person to ask. I’m familiar with the musical instrument stores in the NA area.”

“I mostly play pop and fingerstyle, and occasionally blues.”

Jessica smiled and shook hands with the other party, while Kevin stared at her face, his fingers sliding unconsciously on the guitar fretboard: "Really? You play fingerstyle? This is the first time I have seen a girl who plays fingerstyle. I’m not lying to you, you are different from the girls I’ve met. Hey, look, it’s almost time to eat now, why don’t we find a place to eat and slowly talk about the musical instrument store?”

"Sorry, no."

......

After 3 hours.

The beer-bellied music store owner rubbed his nose and felt a little embarrassed by the request of the girl in front of him. After wandering around the store for a few times, the girl wanted to try the Kalamazoo commemorative Gibson J-200. This guitar is very expensive, and the girl looks young and doesn't seem to be very good at playing the guitar. If she gets any injuries, it will be very troublesome to pursue the blame.

"Are you sure you want to try this?"

He stared at Jessica: "This is a piano produced in 1984. Even if I take it out, I can only play it for you for a few minutes at most."

"no problem."

Jessica sat down with the guitar in her arms. Instead of plucking the strings directly, she raised the body of the guitar and looked into the sound hole: "Are the back and sides maple wood?"

"Yes, this one is made of maple wood."

“Are there any models using Brazilian rosewood?”

"It has been banned for a long time to cut down the Brazilian rosewood. Jessica, if you want an acoustic guitar with top-grade Brazilian rosewood side panels, you probably have to go for a model from the 80s. The existing top-grade Brazilian rosewood is all very expensive. I really want to You'd better customize it. If you choose something with lower quality, the price/performance ratio is far inferior to that of Indian rosewood, although top-grade Indian rosewood is also very expensive." The fat uncle smiled and shook his head, crossed his arms and said, "What if I I have a top-quality Brazilian rose in my hand, and I would definitely be reluctant to sell it. Or do you want to try something a little bit inferior? I have some here, too."

"Forget it." Jessica straightened the piano body, kneaded her fingertips, and then began to sweep quickly on the strings. After the notes played, she gently closed her eyelids, and her face no longer looked relaxed and indifferent as before, but instead turned into one of restraint, nervousness and depression, reminiscent of a teenager with low self-esteem on his first day at a new school.

The fat uncle also plays the guitar himself, and he soon realized from the intro that the chords of this song are not complicated. The technical difficulty lies in the right hand. He must take into account the main tone and fill-in while strumming, and accurately pluck one of the chords according to the rhythm gap. Strings. But even so, the girl in front of her closed her eyes and never opened them again.

"When you were here before, Couldn't look you in the eye..."

(When you appear in front of me, I can't look into your eyes)

"You're just like an angel, Your skin makes me cry..."

(You are like an angel, your skin suffocates me)

As soon as the first lyrics were sung, the man raised his eyebrows in surprise. Because Jessica's singing voice at this moment is very different from the time she spoke just now, as if she is another person in front of her now. This slightly hoarse and magnetic voice makes goose bumps spread from the back of her head to her neck, clutching tightly. It caught his mind.

The lyrics are concise and easy to understand, and you don't even need to spend time thinking about it. Every line Jessica sings perfectly corresponds to her expression and demeanor. A sensitive person with low self-esteem, a perfect object of admiration, who yearns for but is hesitant. Impulse and reason are wildly entangled in his mind, and he never dares to take the most important step.

A few sudden vigorous strums interrupted the previously dull and depressing rhythm, like a sharp knife, suddenly completely tearing the hazy curtain apart, letting the chewed pain scream out. The strong explosive force spurted out the notes, but Jessica used the damping technique here. The fixed measures of each beat were ruthlessly suppressed at the end, creating a sobbing-like feeling of pain.

"You're so fxckin' special, But I'm a creep, I'm a weirdo..."

(You're so damn special and I'm a coward, I'm a freak)

“What the hell am I doin‘ here? I don‘t belong here.”

(What the hell am I doing here? I don’t belong here.)

The second chorus comes to an end, and the erupting emotions become more and more turbulent in the successive falsettoes: "Oh~Oh~She's ~running out the door! She's ~running out, Run run run run—— ! (Oh, she pushed the door open and ran out! She ran away in large strides, run! Run! Run! Run—!)"

At the top, it came to an abrupt end.

After a while, a slightly gentle strumming made time seem to return to its original point, but with a narrative-like sense of peace, sobriety and helplessness. Jessica lowered her face and whispered softly, finishing the last line of the lyrics. The notes reverberated in the resonance box of the piano body and slowly dissipated reluctantly. The fat boss still crossed his arms, pursed his lips tightly, and took a long breath: "Do you smoke?"

"Don't smoke."

Jessica opened her eyes.

"...What's the name of this song?"

"Creep."

"I've never heard of it before, you wrote it?"

After hearing the fat boss's words, Jessica tilted her head. The expression seemed to want to laugh, but suddenly stopped, looking inexplicably sad: "It's not me, it's an unknown friend, but I've never seen him again. This was originally a rock song, It used to be quite famous, maybe you don’t hear this type often?”

"I stopped listening to rock music a long time ago." The fat boss smiled and reached out to take away the Gibson J-200: "Okay girl, the playing time is over. If you still want to continue playing, please watch this song For your sake, I can let you play the guitars in the row on the far right. Although the price is not high, it is enough."

"No, I want to buy it." Jessica handed the piano to the fat boss first, then took out a few thick wads of pounds from her bag and slapped it on the counter: "These should be enough, right? I still need Desiccant, humidifier and strings, you should have sealed bags here, right? Just pack them all, I guess I will have to carry them to many places."

"...This is the first time I've ever seen someone carry so much cash."

The fat boss was stunned for ten seconds.

"This is rock and roll."

Jessica spread her hands.

"Okay... Hey! Son! Help me count the money!" The fat boss turned and shouted into the room. After a while, a fat man of fifteen or sixteen years old came out. His face looked like his father's. Exactly the same style. But the little fat man looked unhappy and obviously didn't mind being disturbed: "What are you doing? I'm busy. Also, can't you call me by my name? I have a name!"