Sunday, 17 April 2005, 8:30 pm
Cell phone rings:
“Lana”
“Yes”
“It’s ----”
“Yes”
“Did you get my emails?”
“Yes”
“Both of them?”
“Yes”
“I just wanted to make sure you knew that the guitar wasn’t meant like that. It’s wasn’t for that…It was just for...”
“I know”
“You do? Good. Cause it wasn’t supposed to be like that…”
“I’m not keeping it.”
“You’re not? Why? What are you doing with it?”
“I’m taking it to Faith and letting them get back it back to you.”
Silence
"Is that okay, if I leave it there?"
"Yeah, whatever. But it wasn’t meant like that. Why would you do that?”
“It’s too nice to just give away. No one does…I can’t keep it."
"You can't?"
"No, I don’t want it.”
“You don’t want it?”
“No”
“Well if that’s how you feel.”
“Yes”
“Bye”
“Bye”