Like a complete unknown.

The kid sat a few rows away in my car with his guitar and strummed it lightly, staring out the train as the Hudson flew by, one knee upright and the other leg folded on the seat, propping him up as his fingers picked at those strings and the slow, thin twang of some newer, younger, Bob-Dylan-like song politely pressed against the window, eighth notes and a strum of chords huffing like careless afterthoughts as he nodded his head occasionally and continued to look out at the green and the blue and the slightest of gray waves that for once, I noticed, seemed to lap in slow-motion.

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