Warm Up

What, exactly, broke him. This man, who, day after day, stands on a little island’s crumbling remnant concrete sidewalks and strums away at his guitar while rain ceaselessly dampens his strawberry hair.

Never far away from his well-worn guitar case, for instance, you will find a beer or bottle. I’ve heard him comment more than once, in a jovial manner that belies a remarkable self-knowledge, “Every day, playing my guitar and drinking myself to sleep.” Every damn day, I think to myself standin...