Until the band starts bringing in money, I’ve had to busk to keep bread on the table. Less now, Sandra having split.
I began strumming as a well-dressed old man rounded the corner and advanced slowly up the block. I was wary. Many oldsters aren’t generous to buskers; waste time gabbing about music then leave without throwing anything into the open instrument case.
When he came alongside I moved into the heartbreak set I wrote after Sandra pulled out.
For nearly ten minutes, the elderly man listened stonily to my laments over a shredded relationship. Once he gave a glint of emotion, as I was finishing my final song, “Lost Love.” He dug into a pocket, then bent to place something carefully in the case. The upright lid blocked my view. As he moved off I thought I heard him say something like, “Nice song,” but with the traffic noise I wasn’t sure.
A cop strolled up. He looked okay. The city bylaws are vague, and it’s up to the individual officer how they apply. This one just grinned and said, “Great looking guitar.”
“Represents a lot of skipped lunches.”
He pointed to my case. “If I were you, I’d get that hundred out of there.”
I peered over the lid, saw the bill. After hesitating, I decided to do the right thing and pointed down the street. “That old geezer must have made a mistake.”
The cop looked. “He’s well off; he can afford it.”
“You know him?”
“Since resuming foot patrols we’ve chatted a few a few times. Kind of sad. That red brick building he’s going into is an extended care place he goes to every day. His wife’s there. Alzheimer’s, mind completely gone.” The cop smiled sadly. “He calls her his ‘Lost Love.’”
David Haas has been writing and performing as a musician for the past quarter-century after a 30-year career in the Canadian Army and as a courtroom lawyer. He’s published two short stories, and had 12 plays performed including four at the Edmonton Fringe Festival, and has recently added buck dancing to his singing and playing.
This article appears in the April 2025 issue of Edify
