" I’ve never seen him arrive or leave, because I always walk past him, drop a dollar bill in his case, and keep moving. Then, covertly from the platform, I look over—as do many of us—to where he sits on his stool near the base of the stairs, his fingers flying up and down the neck of the instrument. His left hand pulls out the notes as if it’s as simple as breathing.

Breathing. As an aspiring writer, it’s my least favorite cliché, but it’s the only one that suits. I’ve never seen someone’s fingers move like that, as if he doesn’t even have to think about it. In some ways, it seems like he gives the guitar an actual human voice.

He looks up as I drop a bill into his case, squinting at me, and gives me a quiet “Thanks very much.”

He’s never done that before—looked up when someone dropped money in his case—and I’m caught completely off guard when our eyes meet.

Green, his are green. And he doesn’t immediately look away. The hold of his gaze is mesmerizing. "

― Christina Lauren , Roomies