busker

This morning, a busker stepped into my subway car.  Once the doors of the train closed, he played “Moon River” in slow soft notes.  In a very rare display, everyone on the train grew still and quiet while he played: no personal devices competed for attention and all conversation ceased.  We were captivated for a few moments, seduced by the sultry tones of the clarinet and the wistfulness of the song – until the next stop, when the doors opened and the noisy jumble of life spilled in again.

 

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