in which: George sings
May. 12th, 2009 10:56 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
42itousThere's often a busker playing music in the T during the morning commute. I recognize the familiar faces: I like the guitarist who plays folk and rock; the jazz trumpeter I'm not so fond of. This morning I left my bike at home and took the T because thunderstorms were predicted for the afternoon. When I swiped through the turnstiles I noticed that the busker wasn't one of the regulars: it was George.
George lives in my neighborhood. He's about 70 years old and is blind. I often see him walking his dog, Louie. Louie is not a guide dog -- in fact, Louie is worse than useless: he makes it impossible for George to walk in a straight line (in fact, that's how I met them: Louie had led George so far off course that they were on the verge of the woods down at the end of the street).
Anyway, there was George, singing in the T station. He held a large Dunkin Donuts cup in one hand. He had no amplification, so it wasn't until I got close that I realized what he was singing: "I Can See Clearly Now."
I chuckled to myself and put a dollar in his cup. And indeed, it turned out to be a bright sunshiny day.
George lives in my neighborhood. He's about 70 years old and is blind. I often see him walking his dog, Louie. Louie is not a guide dog -- in fact, Louie is worse than useless: he makes it impossible for George to walk in a straight line (in fact, that's how I met them: Louie had led George so far off course that they were on the verge of the woods down at the end of the street).
Anyway, there was George, singing in the T station. He held a large Dunkin Donuts cup in one hand. He had no amplification, so it wasn't until I got close that I realized what he was singing: "I Can See Clearly Now."
I chuckled to myself and put a dollar in his cup. And indeed, it turned out to be a bright sunshiny day.
