One day I placed my MP3 player next to me and started listening to some music. As I closed my eyes, the sun was tingling on my skin and I took a trip into the waves of music. A few minutes later, I heard someone saying, "that's a nice piece..." I opened my eyes and said, "Sorry?" To my surprise it was a homeless person eating a sandwich. He said: "Moonlight Sonata, that's one of my favorite pieces"
"I had no idea my headphones were that loud," I replied.
He said, "No, no, no! I saw it when it came up on your playlist. These days I don't see many young people listening to classical music."
He went on talking about the topic. He had all my attention, at that point. He told me about the time he played for a very well known theater in NY, as he pulled an old photo album from a plastic bag. "May I show you something?" he asked. "Why of course," I said. As soon as he opened the first page, I recognized him.
"That's you!" I said.
He smiled as he showed me many pictures of himself
playing in different places around the country and Europe. It was as if he had jumped into a time capsule and was reliving his memories with so much joy, that I felt privileged just to witness this very moment. I lost track of time in his stories and those fascinating places. Then suddenly, he stops at the very last page of the album and sighed. It was an article in the paper with a picture of him. At that very moment, I noticed there was a finger missing from his hand.
He never said... I never asked... Politely, he got up and thanked me for the chat and vanished among a group of tourists into Central Park.