In 2018 Kansas City, I was drowning in deadlines… juggling a major hotel contract and building a gym in the flood-prone West Bottoms. My brother and I took a rare weekend off. One pink unicorn, a guitar, and a walk across the bridge into Kansas later… everything changed.

What started as a psychedelic escape turned into one of the most mystical nights of my life… a chance encounter with an 84-year-old barefoot traveler who’d been crossing the country by freight train for years. He sang. We listened. The bridge echoed.

This fragment isn’t just a memory… it’s a transmission.

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