Man in Tunnel
Yesterday evening, on my return from the work place, I heard from the tunnel the strumming of strings, a simple song, plucked by a simple man. He was leaning against the brick wall, hands releasing the spare silver in their pockets before they step onto the train and go home. Normally, wind instruments can be heard in the tunnel, like a saxophone or a clarinet, but yesterday was new. There was a face shining like the sun, music out of the mayhem, no longer a mundane wait, but a mountain moving.