Even among the throng of cosplays, the figure perched on the garden gate is out of place. A bubble of influence keeps the masses from trampling over his space.
With the pluck of each string, the sound of the banjo moves the bard back and forth. He sways with each note, and the rings on his fingers and the trinkets adorning his ear catch light and shimmer with the dance of his song.
By all accounts, Russ is a bard. It was surreal to see a stranger reflecting the same eyes of myself. He's been traveling around learning every skill he can, such as blacksmithing and his newly acquired proficiency with the banjo. The dollars piling up in his case are going towards a new set of carpenter tools so he can learn that.
I wish I could have more time talking to him. Unfortunately Russ wanders almost completely off the grid. No email, phone number, or a way to contact him besides an encounter of serendipity.