I had a dream where I went to see an old busker every night just to hear him play. One night he was playing the acoustic guitar strumming with two acoustic guitar necks and plucking the strings of each one. He asked me what I was doing there and I said I enjoyed this spot he was at and listening to him play. He was playing on the roof of the bonsai shop in Chinatown at around 11 pm. Instead of looking cold and dirty, Chinatown had lots of silent traffic in the background with warm bokeh scattered everywhere. It was very romantic. We talked about each other and I woke up while he was telling me his wife or someone dear to him had died. The sadness lingered for a good 10 minutes as I drifted in and out of sleep, trying to capture the essence of his story.