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singing cowboy

I would’ve missed it.  If I’d walked around the corner to meet my friend, if I hadn’t stopped to get a drink and cool off in the hole-in-the-wall deli place, if I hadn’t had my camera . . . I wouldn’t have captured him.  I stood sipping my tea when he rode up, not on a black steed, but a stickered skateboard, cowboy hat on, guitar slung over his back, big gulp in hand.  He sat, curbside.  He sipped, then grabbed his guitar and sang.  Not for anyone else.    He just sang and he was beautiful.

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