Chorus
The people came and went in the dusty railroad town. Some had lived there for years, hesitant to move on even in the face of the wind changing, while others drifted in and out and this was merely the latest stop on their journey.
Then there were some that had intended to leave, but stayed for whatever reason—some for love, some out of necessity, and others for the bar at the edge of town.
Run by Hermes himself, it was a waypoint for travelers, and the food and conversation were well worth the price. The god of messengers even did his best to ensure travelers were paid their due, encouraging others to tip when they could, and sometimes that was the difference between survival and starvation.
And the boy that played the lyre, who Mr. Hermes had taken in, had a sense of magnetism and mystery to him. If they were merely players in his story, observers, that was fine.
Getting involved too much, after all, could be trouble.