There once was a man who live on Richmond street, he died a few years back. Took care of his elderly mother who used to shave her head and named her pet cat Winston Churchill, she had a few pet birds too. Anyway, the man was a Musician. He used to park his van down by this old run down building in the center of town and sit with the door open playing his guitar. He wasn't the greatest and he wasn't the worst, he just really enjoyed what he did. I forget his name but I haven't forgotten the way his face looked when he played. He was out of the house, away from his mother and her pets. He'd sing just as loud as he could. People laughed at him and called him crazy under their breath. I didn't mind him so much. I passed by there sometimes walking home from school. He was happy and I knew right then and there that no matter what I did in life I needed to get my own van and park it down somewhere with a guitar and be happy like he was. I said this to my family once at dinner and things got real quiet. mom told me to re think that and my pop told me no son of his was going to be like that, but i didn't pay any attention. I thought he was a Musician and I loved his art. that was me. that was my world.