With his weathered straw hat and a fiddle, he is a walking anachronism against the futuristic backdrop of the imported Spanish tram. He plays for coins and small bills on the #13 and the #3, maybe others, ones I don't take, traveling a few stops and back in a loop, fiddling the same song for an ever-changing audience.
Sometimes he plays for free, while grumpy passengers refuse to acknowledge him. Among them, I too, sometimes turn the other way.
But today, he made me smile.
The sun was warm, and the same tune was, somehow, right. Toes tapped along. Embarrassed at an unintended moment of levity, a few passengers slipped surreptitious fingers into pockets and purses.
For turning a lifeless tram ride a brief moment of beauty, you, sir, have earned your pay.
Sometimes he plays for free, while grumpy passengers refuse to acknowledge him. Among them, I too, sometimes turn the other way.
But today, he made me smile.
The sun was warm, and the same tune was, somehow, right. Toes tapped along. Embarrassed at an unintended moment of levity, a few passengers slipped surreptitious fingers into pockets and purses.
For turning a lifeless tram ride a brief moment of beauty, you, sir, have earned your pay.
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