A car drove drove past my friend's house in the country, stopped, then continued on. My friend and his brother went for a walk and found a small Peavey Rage guitar amplifier sitting on the shoulder. He took it home. An hour later a different car drove slowly down the road, then drove back and forth a few more times, and finally left. Clearly, my friend had intercepted a drop-off for a fence.
I paid Mac $60 for that amplifier, so I didn't steal it personally, but I liked to think it gave me some punk cred. Instead, every time I played my cheap Washburn through it, my grandmother's silver tea service tarnished itself in misery.
I tried to sound like David Gilmour because I couldn't imagine myself sounding like Robert Fripp. I made noise for about five minutes every six months until I sold the guitar a decade later. Clearly it wasn't the creative outlet for me. Twenty years on, do I sound anything like Larry Niven?