There once was a three-year old girl whose most prized possession was a stuffed lavender unicorn with one green button eye and one slightly larger black. Her single mother took her every day to the train station on the way to daycare.

On this day, they arrived a bit earlier than usual, and the little girl held tightly to her stuffed animal as they waited. As she bounced on the tips of her toes as children often do when they are impatient, she heard a strum of music coming from somewhere nearby. As she looked for it, she caught sight of a young man near the wall of the station playing a guitar and singing about a secret agent man. Passionate eyes stared out of a scraggly face, and a beaded necklace bounced against pale collarbones as he sang. He didn’t seem to care about his ripped jeans or grimy plaid shirt — rather he was entranced with his own music.

The little girl pulled her mother closer and joined the small crowd that was listening to the young man. After a few moments, the little girl began to dance. Her mother would have stopped her if she had thought about it, but she was already making mental lists of all the work she had to do that day. The little girl smiled up at the guitarist, and he played just for her and her unicorn.

The Express arrived, and the group moved for the doors without a second thought about the young man who had been entertaining them moments before. As the mother pulled the little girl toward the train, the girl watched the musician’s face fall with a heavy sigh. She twisted from her mother’s grasp and raced back to him. She offered her unicorn to him with a smile, and he grinned back. He took her toy gently, untethered his necklace, and set the beads carefully into her palms. They held eyes for a moment. Then the little girl’s mother dragged her back to the train, and they disappeared down the tracks.