There's a punk who sings and plays a random selection of songs on his acoustic guitar at the BART station near my job. He's not particularly good, but he doesn't completely suck, either; he's incredibly earnest and, not surprisingly, looks as exhausted as everyone else in the place as they shuffle home from their days of drudgery. There aren't exactly crowds of tourists around him, but lately he seems to have gotten stuck with the morning spot, and I don't think he's been doing so well. This morning he was playing "I Wanna Be Sedated," and I kicked him a buck in gratitude. This evening on my way home, he was still there, but he'd moved above ground, and was strumming an electric guitar, plugged into a little amp. He nodded at me, another drone on her way home; I got on the train, went home, and sedated myself with some Harry Potter and a martini.