He doesn't know what he's doing here, what he's going to do here but he knows he's got to do something soon. He's been sitting in this subway for three days now, writing songs about the people who drift through the doors and learning that not everyone in New York is as original as they think they are.
They still deserve a song though, everything deserves a song.
Occasionally someone tosses him change, dumping it on the empty seat beside him and other times all he receives are glares. People talk here, they talk about everything they don't know because, apparently, lies are what keep this city standing.
Not that the same thing didn't hold true back home but was different there. Although maybe that was because everyone knew each other, they'd lived amongst those same old lies for ages and had no problem looking them in the eye. That was different here though, in this place it felt like looking someone in the eye was a crime.
His ma always said he'd never make it here because of that, because he'd been raised to look folks head on instead of averting his eyes but that didn't make a difference to him. He still watched people with an unflinching gaze, still looked for those lies to see if he couldn't use them to piece together something beautiful, some song that would be remembered for ages.
The subway comes to a halt and the people flow like water though the doors, most of them paying him no mind as they drift away, drift into more of their lies. He's watching though, he's always watching and searching, trying to find that one lie that would give him his song. The one special lie that would become his glory song.