slinkster-cool:

“Double cappuccino, to go, please… that necklace is spectacular by the way, it matches your eyes and the colour of the walls behind you.” I couldn’t be sure but I thought her cheeks burned crimson ask I smirked under lashes and sunlight.

Outside The Train, I caught ear of another street musician playing his heart like it was the only thing he had left and maybe it was. His worn leather jacket and green cavalry pants made him look like a tree inverted and by this I was drawn to him. Long brown locks, ratted and tangled, hung down past his waist and swung ‘round as the black and white keys of the squeezebox in his arms blew fusions toward the underground parking garage. I think he sought out this spot for the echoes-echoes-echoes drew only the strong and the ill-of-heart close.

I stood in a trance, nearly dropping my hot coffee to the pavement and feet but I couldn’t take my eyes or ears off of him. The music dripping from his chest and fingertips had me wondering that on a day such as this with sunshine and snow clouds, locals and tourists, gloved hands and bare ones, how simply cozy it is to play an accordion instead of a guitar on the corner of San Francisco Street.

Perhaps I was his only listener that day. Perhaps I was not. Perhaps at that moment there were others beating their hearts to the rhythm of the streets 30 miles away, across the country, over the oceans, above our heads. I have faith that there were for if there wasn’t, how do we connect so crucially? How critical our minds depend on what our hearts feed off of.

The fool & the fox did a dance in the drive, we do it to know we’re alive.

5 december, 2011

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