It was a cold night in New York, 1961.

You were spending your night in a soup kitchen, serving the homeless. You looked up and saw a middle-aged man, you wondered if he was here to order a meal or volunteer. He looked put-together enough but he groaned, looking up at you.

“Cold night.” You commented.

“No shit.” He fired back, clenching the handle of his guitar case. He paused and sighed, tiredly.

“Sorry. Long night. Wondering if I could get some coffee?"