The pouch in which he carried his tobacco was empty and his flask was bone dry, so dry that it could have been dry for days. Jim was yet again waiting for another train, waiting for the next train to take him to the other town, where the promise of making money with his music was more guaranteed than in the last town, or the many towns before. Jim had no home and only a few posessions with him at all times. The tobacco, the flask usually filled with Jack Daniels, his guitar, and the god-given gift: his voice.

He left home immediately after graduation, didnt' want to conform to the path that his parents had set for him many years ago. They were always misunderstanding of his desire to travel and make money with his music. It was an era in which the times were beginning to change and take a different shape, the old parents simply couldn't grasp the concept of it. Looking back on his previous years, he felt that he was rather unsuccessful in his pursuit of music, but was not willing to give up yet. Jim believed that one of these trains would take him to his destiny.

Jim was sitting on the old wood bench next to the tracks, unsure of which train to board. He never had any idea of where he was going and probably would only findd out after several days in this new town. Jim was beginning to get anxious because he really wanted a smoke and a sip of jack daniels. He hoped that on the next train someone would be willing to volunteer him a cigarette and possibly a drink; a hope that was hard to come by because of his looks. Jim looked extremely dirty and almost dangerous. His beard was beginning to take the shape of a radical muslim fundamentalist, his jeans were torn, his boots covered in mood, and his shirt covered with all sorts of stains.

As he was waiting he decided to play guitar, to keep it in tune and to practice. He began to play "hear my train coming," which ironically he didn't. Jim was interrupted by an old man who was making his way towards the same bench to sit next to Jim and listen to him play. Jim didn't like this, he never liked being close to strangers in a small town in the middle of nowhere, he never underestimated what some people are capable of. The man sat next to him and began reading his newspaper.

"Where ya headed son?" the old man said. "Oh, I dont know, maybe South Africa or the Soviet Union." Jim responded like this intentionally, he didn't want to keep conversation with this man. This old man looked too good to be living out here in the middle of nowhere, Jim thought of it as sort of a disguise. The man was wearing a perfectly fitted suit, was perfectly shaved and had an amazing scent. It didn't make sense to Jim, who was always paranoid in situations like this.

"Where you from boy?"

"Somewhere out west."

"I hear ya playing that guitar, that's why I sit here. Yer pretty good."

"Thank you"
" You know in New York City, something is starting to develop musically, something new... that next train is headed there. I thought you might be interested in that."

"Uhhh, yes, sir." Jim thought that this may have been some kind of joke, he had never heard of a good music scene in NYC. Of course, he always heard about the musicals on broadway but never felt a travelling musician like himself would fit into that whole set up. In the distance he saw the black smoke coming this way, he knew that it was his next train. He packed up his guitar and stood to wait for the train.

"Thank you again, sir."

"Oh, no problem, you got some money boy?"

"Uh, no sir."

The old man handed him 5 dollars, and Jim vowed to pay him back once he became famous. He told the man to look for him once he heard his name on the radio and he will repay him. Jim was finally on his way, finally a place to go and lay his hat. He just had no idea how far this journey would take him, he had no idea where he was.

"Uh, excuse me sir, where are we right now?"

"ahah. We are in El Paso, Texas."