As I wandered toward Gutenberg Square in Budapest, the crisp air carried an unexpected melody—an elderly man singing with a voice so rich and powerful that it echoed through the surrounding buildings, amplifying its depth. His song was not just heard but felt, resonating with a passion and tone that froze me in my steps. He sat on a bench, cigarette in hand, seemingly lost in his performance yet fully aware of its impact. While others hurried past him, perhaps dismissing him as just another character in the city’s tapestry, I found myself captivated. There was a timeless quality in his voice, something raw and profound, that invited me to stay and listen. During a pause, I approached and asked if I could record the moment, to which he kindly agreed. His next passage was no less mesmerizing, each note hanging in the air like a story waiting to be understood. When he finished, I shook his hand, thanking him for the gift of his song. “What is your name?” I asked. With a warm yet quiet...