THIRTEEN
“W
ell, finally!” Datu Alvez snatched the music sheets Pio presented him with and stared at the score for a good minute. He looked up at his little brother. “Piano?”
“Your call. I did it on the guitar because I thought it would match the mood of your film, but I guess piano is good too.”
The older Alvez simply jerked his head at the acoustic guitar sitting at the corner of his small studio. Pio shuffled toward it and pulled it from its stand, gently strumming the strings to make sure the instrument was in tune. He then sat on the chair Datu grabbed for him, cracked his knuckles, and began playing.
Datu requesting Pio to write a musical score for one of his projects was a recent development, as far as the youngest Alvez was concerned. The second Alvez son was notorious for bei
