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I stand on the subway with my back propped up against the doors, my shoulders aching and heavy from the day. The crowded train and the sounds of the brakes squealing at each stop, grate on my nerves until I feel as if I will explode. From another car, enters an old man in tat- tered coat, soiled trousers, and sole-less shoes. I instant- ly feel sorry for him, that he is poor - but then he begins to play Tchaikovsky's "Sere- nade Meloancolique" and a smile sprouts on my face as I realize that he is truly rich indeed. |
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