"It's been a pleasure, buddy", said 55-year-old Gregory to his violin.
Stooping over to pick his dusty rucksack, Gregory shed a few tears. His painful journey as a street musician was about to end. No one asked him to stop playing — the truth is no one cared. He was just tired of selling the love of his life to strangers for pennies.
He wasn't sure what to do next. He had nobody.
He left home when he was 20 to pursue a career in music. His parents didn't matter to him nor all the women he met — only his violin did. He wandered from one place to another, looking for gigs. But neither money nor fame came knocking. With years, the gigs stopped too. And he played music on the street to earn his bread.
"Can I touch your violin?" He heard a voice from behind and turned.
There stood a young boy staring at his violin. Gregory had seen the boy a few times. The boy would usually stand quietly at a distance and observe him play. He never came closer or bothered to drop a coin. He never even applauded. But today, he wanted to touch his violin.
"Why not? Come here, buddy." said Gregory.
"My father used to play it, you know?" the boy said, carefully taking the violin in his grips.
"Doesn't he play any more?" asked Gregory.
"He died a few years ago. Cancer."
"And my mother doesn't let me touch his violin. She says it's no good. It only brings misfortune."
The boy continued, "I'd like to play the violin too someday. Like my father. Like you."
Gregory looked at his old violin. His violin smiled.
They knew their journey wasn't going to end yet. Not today.