Yesterday- Philadelphia, PA. Caught a cabride from a South Vietnamese driver who noticed I was carrying a guitar amp. He asked if I played guitar: yes. He told me about how he used to play guitar and we was so happy and excited he told me about Fender and Gibson and all the rest. He was so happy talking about rock and roll and he told me gave up guitar in 1975. Then he he switched on the radio and wouldn't ya know ticket to ride was on and he sang me the chorus, all the time laughing. And we got back to him not playing guitar anymore and he told me about when the communists came to his country and his country used to be the land of freedom but when they came the music stopped for him. He told me that he was in the military and the No. Vietnamese sent him to a camp high in the mountains for four years and he told me that he never forgot the music in his head, it was all in his head. And he told me about how he played flamenco music and rock and roll and jazz and everything else and that when he played he felt the sky open he felt the clouds. He told me this incredibly heartbreaking story with the biggest fuckin smile I have ever seen and he told me to go to the library and look of the Vietnam War and read about his country and I told him I read plenty but I wanted to hear him talk that his was the only point of view that mattered. He didnt condemn anyone the entire time, the only thing he talked about was love and freedom and he broke my heart the fuck open and I thank him for it.