Two men with bronze-colored skin stood in the middle of the square. One of them stood, addressing the crowd, while the other sat, playing a familiar tune on his guitar.
That music… There was something sad about it, yet at the same time it felt warm and familiar. Something urging him to take the plunge into a place from which there might be no return, and something making him desperately
long to go home.
That was exactly how he had felt about it the first time, but now the tune seemed more melancholic to him. Perhaps because of the setting.
Women walking with their children would stop briefly to look at the two men, then move on. Men hurrying by seemed not to notice the performance at all. It seemed as though they were deliberately ignoring it… And that was to be expected.
