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One of the things I miss most about the summer is a moth-eaten street musician in Malmö (I think he's about 30-40 years old). He always wore a broken coat and a top hat, and he only played Bob Dylan songs.
I always requested songs from him and praised his rusty bicycle. One day, when I rushed by and wanted to give him change, he stopped playing - gave the money back to me and smiled. With the money, he gave me a note too, saying; "One day, you and I will get married!". I took up a pen and wrote "You bet!" under the message, gave It to him and walked away.
Then, the winter came and I haven't seen him ever since. I feel so rejected, and cold on top of that.