Danger Zone

Every city has one; that invisible boundary that divides the rich and poor and the safe and the dangerous. Often it is just a matter of fifty metres or a couple of streets and the whole neighbourhood changes and usually, you don’t notice until it could be too late. Sue and I had been wandering hand in hand with no particular place to go, chatting and sight-seeing and then we suddenly saw the plush shops of jewellery and designer clothes and handbags had vanished and were replaced by tacky bars, boarded up shops, and rundown discount stores. She glanced at me; I could tell already she was uneasy.
“John,” she whispered. “Is this a good idea?” I had no real reason to be concerned apart from the reputation the district had, particularly for people who were clearly tourists.
“Let’s keep going. Stay close and we’ll keep our heads down.” It might have been my imagination, my paranoia but I got the feeling we had been spotted. Those going past seem to look our way as if assessing us and looking longer than you would normally expect; then some eye contacts were more inquisitive, more threatening and some downright hostile. We began to wonder if we were being followed. Then I heard music. It was a group of three street musicians playing their guitars with people gathered around. It was clear that they were too busy listening to pay us any attention. And being a mediocre musician it was of interest to me. I had played guitar for years and had often done one of the ten-minute slots at the local folk clubs to fill in time before the main guests. I had been reasonably well received by those less discerning in the audience.

I noticed immediately that the frontman was a fellow left-hander. When he had finished I smiled. I made the air guitar gesture and then pointed at his guitar.
“Hi there, may I try ?” He stared at me for what seemed an eternity but probably no more than a few seconds. He shrugged and handed it to me. I did not hesitate and launched immediately into an Otis Redding number I knew well. To my relief, he showed signs of recognition and then his two mates joined in. My voice was shaking but I think I was more or less in tune. When I had finished I switched seamlessly a well-known Sam Cooke song. I was concentrating very hard but I got the impression that the crowd was listening. When we had finished there was a ripple of applause and I quietly thanked the three musicians.
Sue casually pointed at her watch; I nodded. It was crunch time.
“Thanks for that,” I said. “Guess we need to move on.” The frontman got up; he was considerably bigger than I had thought.
“OK; I’ll come with you.” He laid a huge arm across my shoulders and gently guided us through the throng. Soon we reached the main shopping streets. He smiled; he didn’t actually say you’re safe now but we all knew that was the situation.

“Take care; you play well.” With that, he was gone. 

by Tony Roberts