The bus station crowd is what happens when you boil the fat out of American society. The strange, the old, the people living without cars among tangled spaghetti highways. You don’t have to travel to Africa or Southeast Asia to see real poverty - just visit your local bus station.
I had the pleasure of watching a focused musician absorb the attention of everyone on the L train Tuesday night. He played vigorously as a woman, holding her own large string instrument in a red case, watched with admiration, eyes open wide and mouth grinning. When he got off the train an older man, a cultured man, looked at me and said, “I’ve been on this planet long enough to know that was an unusual being.”