A/N: The following story actually happened to me. What can I say? I'm always in the right place at the right time for weird things to happen. It may seem to strange to believe, but I did have a witness. My mom was with me that night so I know I wasn't hallucinating. For the purposes of the story, however, I wrote her presense out of it, it just reads better without her...Sorry Mum! It's very...I dunno how to put it. It may seem over-done in some ways, but it's just that this is what that night felt like...

P.s. I don't believe in Saints, it was just the title that sprung to mind when I saw..well..you'll see. Also, I have a new found appreciation for the song mentioned in the story since this event happened, now every time I hear it, it makes me feel happy and light hearted. That night was one of the most magical I've ever had the pleasure of experiancing.

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The moon was well on it's way to being full as it hung in the sky that night. It was going towards midnight and I was on my way home from a harrowing visit at my Aunt's house when I decided to stop at the local super market for a soda. It had been a long night, I was angry and feeling very bitter about a great many things, and my raw nerves really needed a dose of caffiene to recover.

It was April, I believe, sometime in the middle of the month and it was the first decent night we had in what seemed like forever. The snow had finally melted, old man winter had finally lost the grip he had held on with for the past several months. The air was warm and fresh, all in all it was an ideal night. I had the windows rolled down and the radio on as I leisurely travelled down the dark streets, just enjoying the weather that I had been waiting for.

After I pulled into the parking lot, and killed the ignition, I became aware of the strains of a song playing across the silence, both familiar but altogether new at the same time.

It was 'Soak Up The Sun' by Sheryl Crowe, something I had always considered to be very over-played, but as many times as I had heard it, there was something different about it this time.

The source of the music was a stereo, playing at full volume a few store fronts down from where I was. It was there that I saw what had made the difference, what had made those same tired chords and keys feel new again.

There, in the shadow of the doorway to a restaraunt called 'The Soup Depot' stood a man with his guitar and amp, playing along with the radio, looking every bit the old rock and roller he was.

His hair, while thinning, was a silvery gray that stood out against the darkness, catching what little light there was available. He wasn't old, exactly, neither was he young but there was something about his face, covered in a thin five o'clock shadow that made him seem...timeless.

Wearing a non-descript brown jacket that was halfway on it's way to being thread bare and a pair of well worn jeans he played on, freely adding new notes whenever he felt them neccessary to improve the song that I had once felt was overplayed and stale. Breathing new life into something that I thought could never be revived.

I must have sat there in my truck for a solid minute, just listening, enraptured by this man who probably didn't even know I was there. The whole word faded away and all that was left was the spring breeze, the music and him.

I felt light hearted as I listened, taking in every note that he added, watching as his fingers flew across the guitar strings. So practiced in their movement, but still giving an air of carelessness. I smiled to myself in the darkness as it felt like all my cares faded away. Such was the healing power of music.

Somehow, something pulled me away from looking at him and I noticed that according to my watch, the store would be closing any minute. I made a decision then and left the truck, walked into the store to get a soda, all the while vowing that I would get in and out of the store as fast as possible.

While I did get out as fast as I could, it wasn't nearly fast enough. By the time I returned, the music had stopped, all was still and he was gone.

No trace of the man I had seen was left behind. His amp, his guitar case, everything was gone as though the magic his presense had spread had never been there. I wondered briefly if he would ever be back, and who he was...

The answer flew from my lips in a reverant whisper, "The Patron Saint Of Vagrant Musicians."