• “Armed only with an old guitar, broken in on wit and whim.” ~Brandon Boyd, Wild Trapeze

    Gabriel wandered the streets of the foreign town searching for a place to set up shop. He had a few possessions, his guitar and the clothes he wore on his back, all carried in a worn, large guitar case, worn on his back, like a backpack. He looked ragged, having been run out of the last town. He was only sixteen years old, an orphan since 13, for the rest of his family, all of them performers, had been killed when their carriage had lit on fire. Gabriel survived, as he was driving with his guitar and possessions next to him while the others slept.

    Gabriel made a living wandering from town to town playing his guitar for anyone that would listen. He stood on the corner of streets, bag open in front of him, playing melodic songs for the passerby. Some people would give him money, some wouldn’t. Others just walked by without a glance, as if he was beneath their level and undeserving of their respect. When the pedestrians were feeling less than generous, he would steal from vendors. They would be screaming out their comestibles, following people up and down the street, and while they were distracted, he would sneak himself a quick loaf of bread or a couple of apples, just enough to last the night. Then he would try playing again the next morning. He never spent more than a few days in a town, and would always leave early if he felt endangered.

    He was outside of the city hall when it happened. Someone shouted “Gabriel Anderson!” his original name. Filled with terror, he ran down the nearest side street. He took turns at random; hoping one of them would lead to the outskirts of town where he could escape in peace. From the shouts behind him, he knew he was being followed. He did not dare looking back, hoping there was a chance his pursuer didn’t see his face, and wouldn’t recognize him again. As he kept going, the voices behind him died down, and finally fell silent. Gabriel heard a crowd and followed his ears to the business part of town, where the main hustle and bustle took place. Thinking to get lost in the crowd, he wandered around, searching for a relatively clear spot. He found one outside of the bakery, and placed his case down, open for people to place coins in. After a rather successful night, he spent a night in the lodgings above a pub, filled with questions about the day’s events.