Shuffle Through Chicago

One day while waiting on a train a man came up to me and started talking. Having a guitar case in your hand will do one of two things; draw people in to tell you about themselves or keep them away. Kind of like having a baby with you but the conversations are far different.
"I used to play with B.B. King." the man said after a couple of sentences into our conversation.
"Really? That's awesome man." trying to not let my face indicate my internal BS meter was pegging out.
"When I was 12 he let me come up on stage at a show and play. My grandma was a friend of his from long ago. I still play some but I can't keep up with the hustle." he said pulling a cigarette from the pack sticking out of his shirt pocket in a fashion people rarely keep them anymore. A quick nod offered one but I declined as has become my habit to counter the habit I used to have.
"I bet you got a lot of work in this town"
"Nah, this town is saturated. Saaatuuurated with blues guys. I moved around a lot and once I left I didn't think I'd be back but my momma got sick and my son was in some trouble"
The screeching and hissing El was announcing it's way into the station when the man asked me for any spare change I had so he could have bus fare when he got off at his stop.
Rarely do I have actual change these days but I had some cash from the night before's tip jar. I see the tip jar many nights as a karma that must be passed forward in some capacity. Most of the time a little bit winds up in a busker's guitar case or with the bartender that has had to listen to me the whole night through while slinging beers to progressively drunker patrons and a continuous emotionally fragile musician. That day though the karmic tip jar cash wasn't for the bus fare, beer, or music but for the story of what was or wasn't true. The man gladly took the wadded up singles as he got on the train but then stepped off quick as the door closed. He had more stories to tell and more bus fare to get but I don't see it as much different from what I do on the stage. For a couple hours I tell you about myself and I want you to believe what I'm saying but really I'm just looking for bus fare.