Once upon a time, in a land far, far away there was a hall at which people were invited to come and sing songs before audiences who would travel far and wide to catch a glimpse of the magic brought by this mysterious strip of land. Upon the strip were glittering lights which captured the hopes and dreams of countless souls seeking fortune in the soil of the great west. 


I was no stranger to this place. This land had once been my home, not by my choosing. My parents had journeyed there hoping to re-establish themselves as parents sometimes do. I was accustomed to strange practices of the land. I once saw a man walk down a street in broad daylight wearing a women's blue, powdered suit and high heels to match.  

It happened on one evening, as I joined my brothers in a band of musical flare, that we found an equally if not stranger than normal incident. We had been invited to sing our songs of hope and freedom to those who dare listen, and were waiting to take our places on the stage at one of the magical stations on this gloriously shitty strip of land. A man in his 50s entered our dingy dressing room asking if we might lend our ears and dollars to him for a moment. One of the members of our group sought to give the man our attention and thus gave him five dollars to captivate us, however long it may be. 

The man was quite disheveled and missing some teeth. He appeared to have made a home of the streets there. How he made it in, was unbeknownst to us. Even so, we were now inclined to hear what he would share with us. In the raspiest tone I've yet to hear from a person, he began to sing the words, "Papa was a rollin' stone..." The rest was undecipherable and short. I couldn't tell if the man had lost his voice or had something blocking the chords in his throat from chiming appropriately. Within 30 seconds the man was gone, our entertainment paid for, and we were all left with one of the stranger moments in life to remember. 

I wish someone had the presence of mind to video tape the incident.