In the underground myriad of lives sliding by one another a melody was softly soothing the cool, oil-stained air. I put a little money in his basked and asked if I could take pictures. He smiled and nodded while his fingers continued to stroke the music so easily from his guitar. I took a little video clip, too, but unfortunately stopped before he strummed his last chord and said, "Good timing," with an almost-shy smile as I complimented his music.
I hoped to see him again, but never did. The other musicians I heard just didn't have the same touch. Most were playing guitars in the places tucked away and designated as a "performance area" and while it was nice, it wasn't his gentle sound. But I found that I missed that musical flavor when no one was there. Except for one odd pair ... they could barely play because of someone harassing them! We kept sliding further and further away from the scene.
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