In a world that seems so empty at times, what does it mean to be real? If the world's greatest violin player dresses as a busker in a Washington DC subway station, plays some of the world's greatest music ever written, what happens? Will anybody notice?
No, nobody really notices. The saddest part comes in a quote half way through the article:
Only then do you see it: He (the violinist) is the one who is real. They are the ghosts.
