Jane Kokernak was having your basic Park Street-type commute when she heard the guitarist:
... Against the red tiles of one of those square pillars that hold the Green Line and all its trains up over the Red Line's sublevel, a small man sat. His black guitar case was open in front of him. A music stand, adjusted down. An acoustic guitar, a high buttery voice, a Spanish song. "Noche ... noche ... noche," was the only word of what he sang that I recognized. Another verse, full of the sound of longing but no words I knew, and then again, "Noche ... noche ... noche." ...