• The modern day troubadour

    A young boy was heading back home from school; he was walking down the septic streets of Chicago alone. It was a cold autumn day, where the sky was gray and the trees, dead. He always looked up at the homeless people who gathered in front of stores, asking change from the pure. He then walked up the cold cement steps that led to his apartment. Inside, the stairs were old of age, and creaked with every step. The walls were stained, and in bad need of paint, and the hand rail was rusty and cold. When he reached his door, he simply turned the knob and walked in.
    His home was small, yet not cozy. It consisted of 2 bedrooms on opposite ends, a kitchen and a living room. Each room though, was the same size. No bigger then 7 feet each. His overweight mom laid in her room, covered with a big old blanket and watching a small t.v. placed on a dresser.
    “I’m home”
    “How was school?”
    ”It was okay”
    “We’re out of milk”
    “You want me to go to the store?”
    “Would you? The money is in my coat” Her coat was hanging beside him. He dug into the pockets and took out a crumpled up ten.
    “Alright, I’ll be back” He took off his book bag, laid it by the door and left.
    There was a corner store down a couple bocks, but the boy’s attention was at the homeless across the street. They gathered around a Chicago city dumpster, where they had started a fire to keep warm. Not all of them had the look of a homeless person though, but most of them wore raggedy clothing. The boy sighed, and walked towards the corner store.
    On the way though, the boy saw a homeless black person wearing sunglasses, with a shiny clean guitar. He was playing it for a little bit, playing a slow moving song that the boy found nice. He stopped in front of him and saw a can within a guitar case meant for money. For a while he stood there, just listening until the guy asked
    “You like what I play, no?” The boy almost flinched in shock and barely realized that the homeless man was blind. He nodded yes, but then smacked himself in the head when he already forgot the man’s handicap.
    “Yeah.”
    “Well, you’re young. I could tell. You live around these parts?”
    “Yeah, I live in the apartment down the block”
    ”Inside?! Well lucky you. You be going to school?”
    ”Yeah”
    “Damn right! Better study. Get smart. Then get rich. You be getting good grades?”
    ”Yeah, straight A’s”
    “Whooh eh! You best keep it up, you hear? Wanna know what I do? I play a song for you, Free of charge!” He then started strumming the guitar, playing a tune that captured almost anybody’s attention. Then the man began to sing
    “Talk about suffering and the way the wind blows. So the people free of misery would know. Talk about suffering and the baby’s cries. Don’t stretch the truth, don’t tell no lies. And then maybe one day, the whole world may know. You talk about suffering and the people’s life. Tell’em whacha see, tell’em about the strife. Talk about suffering and make it end, you could do it my little friend.” And with a final string of energetic chords, the man ended his song. The boy clapped enthusiastically, but the man waved his hand for him to desist.
    “No applause, please”
    “That was good!”
    “You only know it’s good cuz you know what’s bad! But please, if you could, do you have any spare change?”
    “Sorry, I have to go to the store, but I’ll be back” The boy said as he ran off towards the store. When he was walking back though, the guy was gone. All there was left was a pure white guitar pick, which the boy left behind and went back home.