-Billy kept pying, guiding his music for a while. Following Billy's lead, both Spencer and Sugar Egg tinued pying. Jerry Wrexler's first and only rule was given and it was simple: follow Billy, follow the kid, just keep up with his pace, - Jerry said, with every beat of his drums. He couldn't hear Billy's vocals perfectly, but he followed along with a long side guided by the guitar and what he barely uood of the music.

  The musitinued and tihey recorded for the tenth time until Jerry stopped everything with a punch, the producer. Sweat was already beading on the faces of the musis. In front of the soundproof studio, there was a struggle of wills between the producer and Jerry Wexler. There was a certain invenience; Sugar Egg was running his hand over his bald head intensely, refleg his insecurity at not eg with the band. Billy breathed heavily with excitement. The beautiful Agustina still hadn't heard anything, but she was in her pot knowing what to do, nervous and catatonic.

  The pce had leather sofas with gray colors and shiny ptinum tiles that illumihe enviro. The leather upholstery matched the sofas, with a Vinotinto manda rug with bd yellow stripes. The drum set was golden enameled with rge pieces.

  Billy stopped to observe from the small pces. Spencer hadn't said a word since he started pying. They were quite serious, a rule of the producer, not Jerry's. At the beginning of the rec, it was charged with a lot of electricity; Billy's song owerful, but everyone was out of syn their pying.

  -Let's record in parts. It's better if everything is recorded in parts. We'll start with the kid's songs while the others adjust to the singing. ut on an off, let them hear Billy's song, and then they'll uand, - Jerry said.

  -I don't think... -

  -The rec process is twice as slow, Jerry. We have a rec to do, on Sunday afternoon. We might cel all the important things... Listen to it without that strident musioise, and then you'll know it's better to pose the whole song in a different transit; in the end, it will be worth it, - Jerry said.

  -Let's do it, - said Rodrick. - But I hope you tell the kid he o sing the best song of his life. -

  Rodrick was a failed rockstar with more talent for produ editing than for music. He pyed the guitar well o of every ten times, and in his singing, he could only sial and a hard scream that was barely uandable and vocalized. There are many ways to fall, and one of them is to love music with all your heart.

  Jerry admired music, but he khe passionate ones, as he always remembered they let themselves be seduced. Jerry ragmatid one of the most important praxes was to illumihe table with the important cards.

  They took a closer look.

  -Billy, we'll make a different ge. You sing on your own, just create your rhythm. You two, leave; it's better if you listehe high voice ring out, - Jerry said.

  -Of course, boss. Bring me a guitar; I have a song to sing, - said Billy.

  Fustina, it was the first time she would hear her son sing at 100%. He didn't sing like that very often, and she only heard some details in some rehearsals, quick rehearsals that didn't utilize his full power. As he was about to sing the song, a quick ringing sound began to resohroughout the studio, falling into a situation where Billy needed a song.

  [Ding, the moment to ignite iudio, the rhythm of rock, is not usually a fast one, Keane - "Somewhere Only We Know."]

  [Album Strong. About to begin, put your whole heart into it, a song made for fotten children. It's oblivion, a pce to find a mencholy of the desperate.]

  The music began to resonate in his ears, a song with multiple meanings, both the meaning of sadness and joy, everything could ge depending on the song's perspective.

  Now he wao dedicate this song to his mother, not only t her happiness but t back memories of mencholy.

  -This song is for Mom, - said Billy, taking the guitar, practig the four main chords, taking each chord one by one. He didn't even know whiote was which, but he decided to py with the ease that only practice gave him. Seeing that his music didn't quite fit, he decided to ask for a beat, short and simir to the guitar, without high or low notes, just a normal strumming with simir sounds that varied from 3 to four seds. Startironic music wouldn't be a bad idea, great songs, and an alternative album were created in his room whe out of prison.

  -A boy was walking through a town, fotten, without ceremonies. He had many people looking after him, but he got lost in his thoughts... it scared me... but now I uand that fear ot rule my thoughts. Without further ado, here it goes... - Billy murmured, preparing himself, arranging his whole being. A humid forest, with wild animals running bad forth. Behind a mountain, there was a glow emanating from a rge cliff that covered the entire sun rising from it. Brief photons of light darted among the branches like rays of sunshitrag warm spriher.

  …

  I walked across ay ndI khe pathway like the bay handI felt the earth beh my feetSat by the river and it made me plete

  Oh, simple thing, where have you gone?I'm getting old and I need something to rely onSo tell me when yon me inI'm getting tired and I need somewhere to begin

  I came across a fallen treeI felt the branches of it looking at meIs this the pce we used to love?Is this the pce that I've been dreaming of?

  ????

  …

  He sang, pushing air from his diaphragm, as Spencer had taught him. The sound came out angelically, almost like a lulby, without much power. He improved the crity of his void ti a slow pace, almost like a whisper. This surprised those in the trol room, by the melodig. Without raising his voice much, in the first paragraphs, he already captured the full attention of the room.

  All six partits could smell the st of wet pine in their noses; it was incredible for everyone, especially for Spencer, who saw the boy improve by leaps and bounds, almost like whe the boy who came to the music css on a Tuesday, sang, and the brightness, time, light, and space all stopped.

  …

  ????

  Oh, simple thing, where have you goneI'm getting old and I need something to rely onSo tell me when yon me inI'm getting tired and I need somewhere to begin

  And if you have a minute why don't we goTalk about it somewhere only we know.This could be the end of everythingSo why don't we goSomewhere only we know?(Somewhere only we know)

  Oh, simple thing, where have you gone?I'm getting old and I need something to rely onSo tell me when you gon me inI'm getting tired and I need somewhere to begin

  ????

  ...

  Agustina, oher hand, watched ented as the se of a six-year-old boy running into her arms pyed out, while a Thomas Carson waited for her thirty steps away, wearing a top hat that he began using at his cocktail parties. There, amidst a horizon of happiness, Agustina's warmth, no... the warmth of her family flooded her heart, uanding why old Wrelxer wanted Billy to sing. The song was a plete bomb of music.

  ????

  And if you have a minute why don't we goTalk about it somewhere only we know.This could be the end of everythingSo why don't we goSo why don't we go

  This could be the end of everythingSo why don't we goSomewhere only we know?Somewhere only we know?Somewhere only we know?

  ????

  Billy's singiually gained more strength, reverberating throughout the room. However, the pain den with happiness mao transmute the room into a mountain. It wasn't just the st esg from Billy's magical musiymore; it was the wind and a glimpse of a mountain iwining with the leather walls of the studio.

  For the music producer, it was a breath of fresh air. Billy's song had captivated him, and he had gained another follower, a staunch follower, almost like a rebirth. Billy erased traces of doubt in the people in the room who saw a clear future in following the boy, all united, like in aimes, ughing and enjoying. With nothing more than his words as ands, with nothing more than their joyful hearts, glimpses of indomitable and sharp happiness striving to establish an ironic memory, it was a good day to love.

  A clear image, almost like a star in the east pointing to archaiavigation without a pass as a guide. It was an image permaly etched in Agustina, who was sensitive by birth. From a young age, she felt the warmth of her family's love. Like the heartbeat of her mother when she held her, her father's love of watg soccer on game days, the barbecues ireet with the taste of charcoal, the sea hitting her feet, the taste of salt, and her loving family preserved in her photos.

  She loved her son very much; her heart was about to burst from her chest. She tried to catch her breath, but the space felt small, tunnel vision, with a clear and firm gaze of the forest that Billy pai the beginning of the song. It was all she needed, now all that remained was to test love, the love that intensified in her heart even more.

  They followed with the rec of "Love Yourself," "Enemy," and at three in the m, they cluded with "Like a Stohe singing was about to transd. Billy, though strange, slept in his mother's arms, who kissed him and whispered "all the love she had for him, and how she would give her entire life for him" "how she would love him forever, how she would tio love him forever" her arms were warm, but even more so was the selfless love. Ohat is not found anywhere, it is transparent, it is unfettable. Agustina is special, a special phrase, "service, women who provide service, without i, without asking for anything iurn, and only because they are."

  ...