“Chloe’s Song,” it reads. Have mercy. Warren bites the inside of his cheek, his nostrils flaring as he takes a deep breath and then begins plucking the strings of the guitar in a slow, romantic tune. He is instantly as impressive as he is on the drums. At least from what I’ve heard on his CD. His fingers move quickly; there’s a small scratching as he slides between chords. After a visible swallow, he begins singing. His voice is smooth, even lower than his speaking voice. My eyes close for just a moment, desperate to memorize the sound.
