Paul Olsen slumped onto the long bench and carefully placed his battered guitar case at his feet. So this was Grand Central Station, he thought, as he surveyed the bustling and cavernous transit hub. I literally am sitting in a railway station, gotta ticket for my destination , he thought smiling sadly. His eyes were red from playing late last night in a small club in lower Manhattan.
He and his girlfriend, Sarah, worked it out. Together they had planned a route, and she had managed to get him dates at clubs and pubs stretching across the Midwest and down the Eastern seaboard. He had two more dates to play in Boston, before he would head back to their place in Flagstaff.
The one thing he had learned for certain over the six-month experiment, was that the dream was just thatβa pretty, shiny bauble that he had chased, and chased hard, but had never come close to grabbing.
Six months later, none of that had happened, and he was done. He had turned 30 while on the road, celebrating alone somewhere in Illinois. He could still remember the harsh words he had with Sarah that night.
As he grew more tired of the one-night stands, his mood became dark and he found it hard to listed to her encouragement. They spoke less and less, until they finally quit calling each other at all.
