A young man walked into a music store in a small mountain town of Colorado. As soon as he entered the store, he walked directly over to this beautiful piece of carpentry and music mastery, an acoustic guitar. He examined the curves of the guitar, the sheen of the strings as he plucked, and the beautiful tone like the voices of the sirens of Greek Mythology. He took the guitar up to the counter and asked to buy it. $75.00 was the price of this beautiful masterpiece. He opened his wallet and find he had only enough for the guitar and one pick. Every last dollar he owned to his name, he put into this guitar for one chance to make music. He left the store guitar in hand and music brewing in his mind. He sat down near the street corner and plucked the strings gently like the wind. The whimsical sounds escaped the body of the instrument and floated through the air like a speechless poem. He began to play simple rhythms and add a random hum or two into the rhythm. Soon, his focus was entirely enveloped into this instrument. The notes began to pour like a waterfall from the guitar. A simple chorus began to be uttered from his mouth. He sang about what was happening all about him. The woman crossing the street, the policeman writing a ticket for a car parked ever so carelessly in the fire lane, a baby crying while its mother shopped for fresh fruit. A thud was heard just loudly enough for the musician to stop playing. He looked up at a smiling young boy with a balloon. The boy pointed to the guitar case and in the case lie a shiny quarter. A smile crept across the musician’s face as the boy walked away and joined hands with his mother as they walked down the sidewalk. A quarter to his name and guitar case in hand, the musician walked home with the greatest feeling of accomplishment he had ever felt in his life. Better than his graduation from high school or his first kiss, he felt as if he could rise off the ground at any moment. He placed his guitar in the corner of his small apartment and lied on his small cot. He flipped the coin through his fingers a few times. He placed his guitar and pick on his small table and fell asleep. In his dreams, fantastic guitar chords and the words of angels made songs that would make even the most strong willed men in the world break down and cry like little children on their first day of school. He awoke suddenly in a cold sweat and looked at the corner of the room which he placed his guitar. There is stood as the early morning soon shone deeply into the pick guard. This guitar, this masterpiece of man, stood firm in the corner. He dressed and picked up the case, walked down the road, and repositioned himself at the street corner of which he was previously stationed. He opened the case and began to play the majestic songs he had heard in his dreams. Everything seems to fall in place, the chords, the words, the song of which he was playing was perfect. A small crowd of people began to gather around the young man as he played the music straight from his heart and soul. The entire crowd was speechless and man sang his heart out and tears began to roll from his eyes. This music was not a part of him, it was him, everything about him. He stopped playing and still the crowd was speechless. A small thud was heard once again, he looked up, and there was an old man smiling, tear rolling from his eye, pointing into the guitar case.