The grass was springy and dry beneath his feet. Crunchy, really. Charlie Pace probably looked like he was bouncing along, although he was trying really hard not to look that way. It didn't exactly advance the trough-guy image he had been trying to cultivate since adolescence. Neither did the fact that he was, in a word, short. He didn't even look exactly like an adult.
And he in no way had any resemblance to the man standing on the gazebo, who did look very much like the Marlboro man.
Charlie tightened his grip on the guitar case in his hand. He had planned on playing in the park for a few hours. But this guy looked like some kind of law enforcement or security officer, and Charlie didn't have anything close to a permit. Dammit, and the gazebo made quite a stage, too.