I’m going to blog in more detail about my big New York weekend at some point when I have the time to sit down and detail such a whirlwind properly. But for now I just wanted to share one perfect moment.
The subway is hot, smelly, and crowded. It’s not a happy place, much as I love public transit (and I really love public transit!) And yet, Saturday night, after a perfect perfect dinner at Supper, and a stroll through Times Square that ended in a downpour, we found ourselves in a subway stop and despite the heat, despite wet feet, found ourselves lifted while simultaneously underground.
At first he seemed like any other busker, a man with a guitar in a subway. He stood out a bit, I guess, because usually you see skinny white guys with acoustic guitars, not old black men. But somehow, maybe everyone had, like us, had a little bit of wine with dinner and was feeling the love, maybe they were all just tourists, or maybe, in the rain, we were all just looking for some sunshine on a cloudy day, slowly everyone started singing along. Within a couple of minutes, he had everyone at the stop singing along to “My Girl.” And not just sorta singing either. Real, spirited, practically church singing. I guess you say, what can make me feel this way? My girl, my girl, my girl….
Toward the end of the song, trains pulled up on either side of the platform and the singalong dispersed with raucous applause as we all got onto our trains with smiles on our faces, many humming to ourselves.
We may not have had time to toss a dollar in his guitar case, but I wish I had. If you ask me, that man should be on the city payroll for performing a public service– making wet, tired, foot-pained, cranky commuters stop for a few minutes and just sing along. It’s almost like the month of May.