When I moved to the city, I came only with stories to tell, a sax to play, and a hope. …It was a hope that in this crowded world, I could find an audience to captivate. When I moved to the city, I met an old dog who disturbed me. I feared that he was me, just further down the road. The man ran a derelict baseball coaching practice, and like me, he wanted an audience. Like me, he was trying to carve out his niche in a world indifferent to his soul’s joy. He asked me if I would buy something from him, and, disturbed, I rejected him. He begged, cutting his prices down, but still I refused, for I was not interested in baseball. …but I was convicted…was this my fate? Would I discount my value in a run for mass appeal? …but one day, I saw another old dog, wizened and bespectacled, who visited the shop. Surely too old to play baseball, but he paid full price for everything in the store! This mysterious angel investor might never have been seen by anyone, except for a handful. Pappy van Poodle was his name, and I am honored to be one of a handful to never forget. Slowly, but surely, the shopkeeper recovered from the brink of bankruptcy… The baseball business never became more than a niche, but…it was enough. …and so too was I able to realize that I could continue striving in my own niche. …to tell the stories no one else was telling, to play the songs that no one else had heard.