Between Dream and Beat: Phantom Life without Official ID?

In Vienna's dusky embrace, Line 1 rides, a ghost ship of light and shadow. Few souls within, like shadows in the mist. Beethoven steps in, clutching the phone like a new score, symphonies of words in his deaf head – the ticket an echo of distant worlds.

The conductor, polite as a chamberlain: 'Ticket, please?' No reaction. 'Excuse me, sir. Without a valid ticket, I must charge a transport fee of 100 euros. Your ID, please.' Beethoven, lost in his inner orchestra, looks through him. 'Come with me, we'll sort this outside.'

The train stops. Doors hiss. And the titan breaks loose: 'How dare you chase me away from your vehicle?! I am Ludwig van Beethoven!' The conductor, stunned: 'Are you... Beethoven? Ludwig – the composer? A bad joke!'

But behold – a muse, fiddle in the soul, approaches: 'Stop! He hears nothing. Take this for him.' Golden coins flash like notes. Their whisper to the deaf: 'Your sounds are the real journey.' The conductor laughs: 'A genius on my shift! Free ride for this spectacle today.' Beethoven, fists threatening like a conductor's baton, rushes back on board.

Blink – the curtain falls. Dream shattered!
Beethoven himself says: 'Nothing is more beautiful than a firm anchor!“
Our phantom needs an official ID, or he will rage through the stations forever.
Paperwork overture, begin!
Laugh...