Waiting for the train I listened to a man with many gums and few teeth pour out a haunting rendition of Knockin' On Heaven's Door. (This song is apparently a brooklyn favorite as I have heard it sung by many subway singers over the years) The train came and he joined my car, standing with a pug sized amplifier precariously wrapped around his body. His microphone was duct tape-strapped to a neck rack (the kind you see harmonica players use), and his puffed black coat swallowed him up pronouncing the guitar, hero of his story. He began to play tracy chapman's baby can i hold you tonight, and moved a drunken man with swollen finger tips to applause and tears. I filled his hat with the change from my tips and watched him leave the car.
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