Monday 9:07 am
It sounds like Russian klezmer music and it’s coming from two small speakers that dangle from around his thick neck. The speakers are connected by wires to the device in his his large hand. From there the wires snake into the small backpack he’s wearing. He ambles with an air of contentment from one end of the bus shelter to the other and then outside again; a slow clockwise circle. He’s absolutely gigantic, towering over the rush hour foot traffic, his big head bobbing in self-satisfied happiness to the music. Pedestrians scurry around him, as if he is a hulking rock in a rushing river of people. He seems acutely aware of the looks of astonishment, the furtive glances of the passerby at this giant music-playing man. He smiles largely as a woman, hearing his alien music, eyes him with undisguised confusion. His eyes seem to say, yes, yes, this is my music and it’s damn wonderful, isn’t it? And I can’t help but smile at this man, calmly shattering social conventions with effortless nonchalance.