The streets were unusually quiet as I made my way from the 10th floor of the children's hospital to the McDonalds' on 31st Street. It was already 11 at night and I had to decide if I wanted to take the subway or pay the high fee for a taxi ride all the way from New York City to Hoboken, New Jersey. I ordered a Big Mac and a large fry to take home as my dinner and decided a taxi was the best way to travel for tonight. I lugged all of my sheet music into the backseat of the taxi with me and watched the bright lights disappear as I gobbled down my fast food meal. Nights like these make me remember my father the way he was before Lesch-Nyhan Syndrome took over his body and mind. He was lively with a personality larger than Times Square and that
