The Best Busker in the World
by R.K. Duncan
“The best busker in the world never plays in the same place twice. He is too busy searching. But maybe, just maybe, you will hear him once. If you hear him, you will have to see him, even if the first notes of his music drift to you from streets away, completely opposite from wherever you intended to go. Once you hear a single note, it will draw you along like an invisible string, tugging at the knot in the center of your chest where you keep your secret fears and disappointments. Wherever you find him— a dusty back street in a sleepy town, a bustling avenue in the rush-hour of a big city, a lonely campground haunted by only a few brave souls and stubborn wanderers— the sight will burn itself into your memory almost as deeply as the music.”
The old man sighed, and leaned back in his chair. The corners of his mouth turned up, but the young woman couldn’t call it a smile. His eyes were too sad for smiling. They had been the first thing she noticed about him, catching her eye as they passed on the train platform. She paid attention after that, more and more once she started digging, and those eyes had never changed. They drew her irresistibly toward him, and his rich, careful voice held her there and pushed all other thoughts to the far corners of her mind.