He was playing the harmonica on the Walk of Fame. I was drawn to him because he was not Captain America, or Iron Man – the regulars at this strip of Hollywood Boulevard.
My regret was I moved on, to the next shot. Passing him by.
I should have listened to his song. To the wailing cry of his instrument. Which I’m sure was reflecting his weathered soul.
Which roads has he traveled? Which storms has he overcome? Does he see light at the end of the tunnel? Peace to you, my brother.