Essays, Art and Plays by Dan

by Dan, a 73-Year-Old Aspiring Street Performer

Dan stands center stage, holding his harmonica, banjo, and flamenco guitar nearby. The soft light highlights his weathered face, full of lines that speak of years lived and stories untold. With a deep breath, he begins to speak, voice calm but laced with passion.

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Dan:
(quietly, reflective)
Seventy-three years… seventy-three long, beautiful, messy years. I’ve walked down a lot of roads—some paved, some rocky. But there’s one thing that’s been with me every step of the way… (he holds up the harmonica) Music. This little thing right here… and later on, the banjo, the guitar… well, they’ve been more than just sounds. They’ve been my companions… my mirrors.

(pause, thoughtful)
You see, music, to me… it’s like breath. It’s the language of the soul, even when words fall short. This harmonica…blowing those first shaky notes, I realized I could say things that no one else seemed to hear.

(leans in, more intense)
As the years passed, I picked up the banjo, then the flamenco guitar—yeah, I know, not exactly your everyday pair—but I was never one for the ordinary. Each instrument became a piece of me, helping me say what I didn’t know how to say, or maybe didn’t dare to. When I strum the banjo, it’s like plucking the strings of my childhood. The flamenco… well, that’s where my passion burns brightest, like fire in my soul.

(pauses, eyes misty with emotion)
I’ve had this dream, you know. A dream to take these instruments and hit the streets. Just me, the music, and whoever’s willing to listen. Nothing fancy… just sharing the sound that’s been carrying me all these years. There’s something raw, something real about street performing. No walls, no distance between you and the people. It’s just… connection. You don’t know their story, they don’t know yours, but for a few minutes, you’re connected through the music. And that, my friend, is magic.

(shakes head, wistful)
Now, I know I’m not as young as I used to be. I get it—most folks my age are thinking about winding down, but me? Nah. I’ve still got music in my bones, still got stories to tell. And the street… the street feels like the perfect stage. Just imagine—waking up early, setting up on a corner, and letting the harmonica, the banjo, the flamenco guitar speak to the world. That’s my dream. To share that with people. Not for the money, not for the fame… but for the love of it. For the way music has mirrored my soul for seven decades.

I guess what I’m saying is… music’s been my truth. It’s been my joy, my pain, my hope, my everything. And if there’s one thing I’ve learned, it’s that dreams—no matter how big or small—are meant to be shared. And so, that’s what I’m gonna do. One song at a time.

(holds up the harmonica, ready to play)
Because if the music’s still in me… well, then there’s still more to give.

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Dan pauses, then lifts his harmonica to his lips, playing a soft, soulful melody as the stage fades to black.