The Ultimate Return of Carlos

101

Several years later.

The subway platform was as familiar to Carlos as his own skin by now, the dim, flickering lights overhead casting long, uneven shadows across the grimy floor. The night was biting cold, seeping through the thin layers of his old jacket, but he had long stopped minding it. After all, the chill had become a constant companion. Andrew and Peter were already setting up when he rolled up in his wheelchair, the squeaky wheels echoing slightly in the nearly empty tunnel. A few people hurried past, heads down, not sparing a second glance at the trio who were about to fill the subway with their melodies.

Andrew adjusted his guitar strap, his fingers hovering over the strings, testing out a few chords. He glanced at Carlos, his face creased with the weariness of life.

“Ready for another night, my man?” Andrew asked, his voice gruff but kind.

Carlos offered a tight lipped smile. “I’ve got nothing better to do,” he replied, positioning himself beside them. His voice, though