He was ruddy and a bit unkempt, but willing to make our acquaintance. Unfettered by the trappings of a traditional American life, his quest was for meaning and purpose. At the outset, the topics of our conversation ranged from travels, to his dog, named Duck, to family.
And then, a connection was made.
He had a guitar. Kurt has a guitar. They both love music, and shared an intense respect for Django Reinhardt.
I had to use the Google.
In a nutshell, Django Reinhardt was an extraordinary jazz guitarist in the 1930’s and 40’s. Born in Belgium to parents of Manouche Romani descent, Reinhardt was a self taught prodigy, recording music at the young age of seventeen. The following year, he suffered severe injuries from a fire, injuries that included the fourth and fifth finger of his left hand. Doctors told him he would never be able to play again. Believing otherwise, Django applied himself intensely to relearning how to navigate the guitar in spite of his deformities. His effort proved to be fruitful:
It was getting dark, thus goodbye was inevitable. So, with Duck in tow, he mounted his trusty skateboard and headed out into the darkness.
Godspeed fellow sojourner.