Bus stop, 10 o’clock, Tuesday morning. Gotta ticket to Queens, a busted guitar, and a dead dream. The holes in my jacket can't be sewn, my guitar strings can't be replaced, my economic failures can't be resolved, nor can my dream be revived, the dream hundreds have had before; the dream of being a famous musician. If I could talk to myself five years ago I would scream at him give up; stop dreaming.

So anyway; I was at the bus stop and on the bench there was a newspaper. You wanna guess what was under it; it was a wet spot, and my dumb ass didn't know that when I sat right on it. So all day I had a wet spot plastered on my pants.  When the bus ride to Queens ended I got up to get off the bus, but the guy behind me said "Hey, your ass is wet." I responded with "Thanks… I know." "Dude relax I’m just f'ing with you.” I stayed silent and tried to wonder why he was bothering me. I mean, I’m not important, I don’t change lives, I ain’t anything close to rich and famous. Yet, he still wanted to attempt to intervene with my life.

So I was okay with him bothering me and all, but then he started to follow me around. The man in the white undershirt, light blue jeans, long greassy jet black hair, and beat up sneakers was following me all the way from Queens to central park. S*** he even sang along with me in the park. We sang Lost Cause by Beck; I’m surprised that the bastard knew the song. His voice was hoarse, but it was good. I made 27 bucks that day in the park. I didn’t give the mysterious man any money despite how good his voice was; kinda felt bad for some strange reason.

When I hit Times Square I finally got some sense and blurted out “Why the hell are you following me?” He said nonchalantly “I just want to talk. It gets lonely in the city and all the people in this place seem to be the same. You see business men in fine tailored suits, confused, yet excited tourists. I just want a human like me to talk to.” I told him “Okay, lets talk.” And damn did we talk. We stood there in the middle of Times Square and just talked like we had no place to go. It’s not common for people in the city to not have someplace to go. If you wanted to know something about this man chances are I would know it. Favorite color: dark green, favorite sport: hockey, favorite band: the Replacements, but get this: favorite place to be in the world: Grand Central Station at 2:37 A.M.

I asked him “Why such a peculiar time?” He said “I love that time and place because that is the only time and place in this great city that you can truly hear the silence. That is when you can feel alone in that wonderful underground palace. During the day so many people are just crammed together, talking on their high tech devices; They never realized how important that incredible moment of silence can be. Those people are so crammed together they all look like they’re about to ballroom dance. That silence right there in that moment; that silence is the most authentic and the most top quality silence that you can get in the city. You also don’t realize how beautiful it can be. I also never noticed how beautiful this station was. Did you see the wonderful colors of gold and orange that ran through this masterpiece?” I told him that I never even bothered to try to see it. And I do admit; those colors were beautiful. That silence was beautiful, for he took me there to experience Grand central at 2:37 A.M. and I loved every god damn second of it.

He then took out a necklace that he kept tucked under his shirt collar and around that necklace was a headphone spliter and two pairs of headphones. He said he wasted 10 dollars of what he could’ve used to put food in his empty stomach and instead he bought something that could bring 2 souls together. He said “These aren’t just three objects that allow people to simultaneously enjoy music; they’re three objects that are suppose to bring two souls together so that they can intertwine. Those two souls don’t just listen to music; They share the beautiful joy that is a collaboration of harmonies and rhythms that create something marvelous.” And he was right. When he pulled out that old beat up walkman and had a mixtape already popped in there and ready to go; it didn’t just make me cry, it made my f'ng soul cry. When I was there listening to Champagne Supernova by Oasis it made me remember why I had the dream of being a musical icon. I didn’t want to play for gain; I wanted to play for beauty, that purpose died with my dream.

After we stopped and absorbed Grand central at it’s finest we went on a nice long walk. We had no place to go; all we wanted to do was just walk. Near the end of our walk the man just stopped and stood there in the middle of the sidewalk. His eyes closed and his mind at peace. He asked me “Do you know what the most miraculous thing in this wonderful city is?” I responded with “the buildings?” he said “no.” The stations?” “no.” “The park?” “no.” I said “well then what the hell is it?” He waited a minute to answer me and said “It’s the ground.” I stood there puzzled from the strange response. I mean it’s the ground; all it is is f'ng dirt and concrete, but then he said “The ground is the most marvelous thing in this city because it is the wisest thing that could ever exist in this city. It has seen buildings go from a single brick to tearing open the sky. It has experienced true stories of love, hate, and greatness. It has seen poor underdogs rise out of the dirt and go straight to the f'ing top. I’m sure if you put your ear to the pavement; you’ll hear the wisdom, for the stories are hidden in the soil, and the ground has absorbed all the wisdom. I’m sure if you try hard enough you’ll feel the wisdom seep into your soul.” I said “Wow, I never thought in my mind anyone could go from dumbass to philosopher.” And now I know; this beautiful city will always have an impact on my life. It hasn’t revived my dream, but it let me realize that my dream has always been alive. That dream isn’t to be a famous musician, but to live life beautifully and I know that I have been doing that every god damn day of my life because every day I was playing my guitar, every time I was singing a tune, every time I was starving, and cold, and my fingers were so frostbitten I couldn’t make a chord on my guitar without immense pain; I loved life. I was so close to death that I realized I loved the people that gave me looks of disappointment when they walked by me on a street corner. I loved starving because when I got a piece of food I cherished it more than any person could have ever. I loved playing my guitar because I know that some person that walked by when I created a beautiful tune was smiling not because they thought it was right, but because they wanted to. I’m not sure if I’ll die tomorrow, but I know that every god damn day of my life that I will be thankful for that mysterious man that taught me this wonderful lesson. The first time I met him I thought he was a dumbass. Now I think he’s a genius. S***, I even still remember that time in Grand central. I remember the silence and the beauty that ran throughout that staton. I even remember that tear that ran down my cheek when we sat there listening to Champagne Supernova. It was the sweetest tear that I could ever shed.