Sooo tired. Not enough sleep, still jetlagged, but somehow, we climbed out of bed, went through the motions of morning grooming and shuffled out the door.
Heads down, we walked into the subway, winding our way through the cavernous, mosaic-walled tunnels, where distant music funneled out. As we walked further, enmeshing ourselves deeper into the earth, the music grew louder–where was it coming from? Without slowing down my step, I searched for hidden speakers thinking, “The Brits think of everything! They play music in the Tube!”
The music got louder and clearer–to the point where it could no longer be the best quality CD–it had to be real. The lyrical piano crescendo’d, seemingly choreographed to the scene of commuters, silently and briskly walking through a tunnel that seemed to have no end.
What a beautiful soundtrack to rush hour, I thought, as I came across the musician, playing on a portable piano at a junction between walking tunnels.
It set a supremely wonderful mood, and made me wonder why I do not walk around with headphones on–even though of course, I’d always prefer live accompaniment like this morning.