The Transit Station

Dean wasn’t quite sure how he got there, among the sterile white tiled walls of the BART station. He heard the music echo down the long corridors, but his ears were numb. He stood there, motionless, in front of the angel-faced girl playing guitar. She wore a pair of worn-out jeans and a black t-shirt that had ‘Mineral’ written on it. She strummed chords in waltz time on a guitar that looked like it’d been passed down for generations. Dean watched as she moved her lips, but only beauty poured out. There were a few punk rockers sitting along the wall to the right, with their leather jackets, green hair, and spiked collars around their necks. To his left, a couple were dancing in slow motion, hand-in-hand and cheek-to-cheek. Dean was frozen, captured in the moment as her precious voice moved from note to note. He reached into his pocket and placed all that he possessed into the open guitar case at his feet: a fare ticket worth one dollar and forty-five cents.

( FIN. )