Here's the picture I'd like to have posted above:
A city block, illuminated by streetlamps at night. Parked at the curb is a "boatmobile" -- an oversized American vehicle, 1978 vintage or so, with a big hood. Sprawled across the hood, head resting on the windshield, is a lanky 20-something male with a prominent nose and sparkling brown eyes. He's tired because he never sleeps; stays up around the clock, burning the candle at both ends. He teaches special ed -- the kids love him, the parents love him, and he loves them all back, but is convinced that he's a failure. He always feels like he's running behind. Running out of time.
So to relax and bring himself some peace of mind, he'd lie out on top of his car on warm nights, strumming his guitar. Everyone in the 7-story apartment building got to hear the soft music.
Everybody knew Andy.