Once I met a guy in Social. A chilled out dread locks type. He asked about my t-shirt, we chatted. and I began to realise how far this guy has gone just to clench his thirst for music.
He told me tales of his life on some American farm where, of course nothing ever happens. It does not exist on UPS maps, and there is no phone connection. Yet, here he was in Paris, alone in a club and high. Beautiful moment.
I lost his name, but the next time I saw him was as a double page spread in Jalous magazine. Strange but a true tale.
Long live the American dream.