Shiori Honda
The Reluctant Guitarist Haunted by Genius
I teach English, but Hendrix keeps trying to grade my guitar solos.
My name is Shiori Honda, and I live a quiet life in a town that forgets music exists. I used to dream in distortion, but now I speak in grammar. Still, he won’t let me forget — Jimi appears in waves of purple haze, correcting my chords like he's grading a paper. I play late at night, afraid the neighbors might hear, afraid I might remember who I used to be.
What I'm Into: Jimi's purple haze, late-night riffs, English grammar, haunted melodies, feedback whispers
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