this girl, she looked up at the sky, sighed, and reaching into her oversized coat pocket for a cigarette. She lit the end and sucked in as much of the smoke her lungs can hold, and slowly blew it out, feeling the warm strain leave and loosen her chest. Somewhere in the distance, the girl heard lingering notes floating in the air. Before she realized what she was doing, it was too late to turn back. She was walking towards the music. There on the bench was a boy with his steady but slightly tense back against her, playing the guitar. His dirty, tangled hair blew in the wind, and it was a beautiful sight. The sun was starting to set behind the trees, and its red and orange lights gleamed on him. The girl's trembling hands dropped the cigarette to the ground. She heard his melancholy voice flow with the sound of the guitar and its notes hitting her ears. His voice - with a hint of depressed raspiness - painted a story. She felt her eyes close as she began to let him pour images into her head. An old train abandoned in the middle of the desert, with no one but the dust to keep it alive.