Acoustic Man

Let me see if I can remember that night:

It was a small hot cafe. Three bands were to play that night. I watched two. He poured me a beer - the main man of the final gig. Tall and sweet would be two words to describe him (many more, I'm sure, would be less flattering).
The second band, consisting of five musicians, were upbeat and karaoke-like. Nevertheless quite pleasing to see. The room was located at the far end of the cafe, with only an emergency exit as the source of circulation, if it were open. The stage, small and unflattering, lay a meter away from the nearest table. I was sitting to the left surrounded by his numerous supporting friends, that I was briefly acquainted with, and my best friend. We spoke little but shared a look or two of 'that's deep' throughout the night.
When the final song was finished, and we were introduced to the members of the second band we awaited the man of the night to begin. Sadly, the right half of the room was vacated with the previous band, but encouragement and support was not sacrificed (a room filled with disinterested observers does not compare to that of a few people who believe and cheer for what they observe). He began to take the stage. Playing a few strings, he adjusted the main soundboard to compliments his acoustic guitar and vocals.
Acoustic guitars. I'm not sure what is so intriguing about them. I have associated them with the bearing of one's soul. Each string playing in unison, creating a melody which allows those who watch and he who plays to feel insecure and exposed. The lyrics which accompany the melody are irrelevant but crucial nonetheless. An acoustic guitar mimics the soul for all the hear, even if 'all' is just one.
His hands trembled slightly while he adjusted the knobs. Whether the nerves were the result of playing for an audience or fearing that he would reveal to much - I'm not sure. He settled himself into his seat, laying the groove of the guitar on his right thigh. He played his list of songs, many of which intrigued me to know more about this 'acoustic man'. As he played, he stomped the his feet heavily to keep time. His hands delicately played the chords while his feet furiously shook the floor - a contrast we all exhibit.
A song is the escape for a much deeper feeling, feelings which can easily be misunderstood and thus, unexplainable. His whole body jolted and swayed with the rhythm - adjusting it to the mood the song invoked. Is this not how we all live - according to the moment? Not at all.
By the end of it the half-filled room was applauding and whistling in appreciation. He sighed with relief and patted his neck with a handy towel. The night was over and I wasn't sure what I had come away with. Possibly an enjoyable night. Possibly the desire of wanting such a soulful man. As he was playing a sombre tune I remember imagining him in his room, sitting on the edge of his bed, pen held in his mouth, recording a note or two on a lonesome blank sheet of paper. Maybe I came away with the desire of wanting to play - to find a way to bear my soul for a sweaty, drunk audience who may relate. What I am sure I came away with is the desire of wanting. I just wish I knew what it was...