I do not know the story: he just hit his loneliness and melancholy.
I asked myself: “Who is this? Why traveling on trains playing music for a living? What happened to him? Who was this one time? What did he do?”
The world is full of history does not tell: the human stories that should be told and heard.
I would write all the stories in a book unknown infinite, then read them aloud to the wind, entrust these stories to his wings and make them live in the everyday of the whole world.
Not to forget.