"Because you sound like a crazy person?" Imogen hazards snarkily. She's been watching the old man for the last hour, listening to him. He's not half bad at playing, even if he's astoundingly inconsistent at it, and the song he was playing just now, before he started accosting people like a lunatic...

Like his face, it's familiar even though she knows she's never heard it--or seen him--before. Imogen found herself fingering the fret board of her own guitar along with him, trying to figure out the chords. She doesn't like that very much.

"Why are you asking, anyway?"