Fiddler of Jackson St, San Francisco, NY

The window said “Mark’s Hair Cutting Salon $8 and up.” But the salon was empty except for the wail of the violin. He was sitting in the corner, wielding the bow in the same chair where usually a Chinese lady would sit to get her hair cut, for $8 and up. When the tune stopped, I asked him:

“What are you playing?”

“It’s a melody.”

“What kind of melody?”

“What kind of melody? Oh, I don’t know, an old melody.”

“Well, where is the melody from?”

“It’s from Europe.”

“Can I sit and listen?”

“Yes, but I am about to close for the day.”

Then he lifted the bow, bowed his head, and played another melody. That’s when I saw his cap said “NY.”