"Don't know Red," He eyed the woman up and down, she was... delicate was the only word he could come up with to describe her. Pretty he supposed, if she was your type. Way more fucking refined than just about anyone he'd ever met in his life, that much was clear at a glance.
"Thinkin' about a six string," he nodded at the wall of guitars, bit his lip again, ran thumb along his brow unconsciously fidgeting. Don't ask him why, he wouldn't be able to explain. "Not too pricey. I ain't Hendrix or nothing."