His fingers moved across the fret board, acoustic and steel stringed. The sounds of steel and speaker floated through columns and tiles and enveloped me. No jarring distortion or drum machine. No manhandled lyrics thrown past your head.

It was soft, a feather pillow of sound. I don't remember the subway ever feeling that way before. Thanks were necessary. Seconds of sound had already changed my day. A comfort on the way to work. I reached in my pocket and pulled out a one dollar bill. He smiled and said thanks.

The train took a while in coming and I smiled at it's delay. It stopped before me and I moved to enter "that was so nice. I wonder if he has a CD?" Glance, "he does..... I will get it next time I see him.. I should get to work. " I stepped, and stopped, letting the crowd flow around me into the red and silver tube. "I may never see him again."

I bought his CD and now sweet music filters through the crevasses in my mind. I don't mind my deadline.