Guido leaned back against the wall. His eyelids drooped and he drew wholly different sounds from the strings. Talk died away. Not many here would know this song. Kintyre himself didn't recognize it before the singer had embarked on the haunting refrain. Then Guido looked his way, smiling a little, and he knew it was a gift to him.
"Quant' è bella giovinezza
Che si fugge tuttavia!
Di doman' non c' è certezza:
Chi vuol esse lieto, sia!"
Lorenzo the Magnificent had written it, long ago in the days of pride.
When he finished, Guido said, "Entr'acte," laid down his guitar, and came over to Kintyre's table. He stood with his left hand on his hip, fetching out a cigarette and lighting it with the right.
"Thanks," said Kintyre.
Guido continued the business with the cigarette, taking his time. Kintyre returned to his beer.
"Well," said Guido finally. He grinned. "You're a cool one. I mean in every sense of the word. Let's find a booth."