He played the saddest music on his violin. The blues know no boundaries, thought Sean, walking past the musician for the fifth time this week, in the underground tunnel tube station on the way to work. Sean took his eyes off the steady flow of commuters, zig-zagging in untouchable streams, in the direction of the musician. The violin old and battered just like the man, perhaps once better taken care of, in not so lean times.
The sad music was unfamiliar to Sean. Stepping on the escalator, pulling Sean out of reach of the depth of the reverberating sounds in the underground, he checked his pockets for his watch and exit ticket. Several months ago, Sean was stuck with out an exit ticket, so he talked to the violin man. He has a name, Sean thought startled, but for the life of him Sean could not remember it. The violin man helped him get out of the underground with an "extra" exit ticket. Perhaps he really was a security man in disguise, Sean remembered thinking that, and smiled. Violin man needed a new job, his artistic sense was uncanny for a security guard.
The underground musician's violin was haunting him all week. Sean wanted a change, Friday usually was punctuated by happy music. In a rush as usual, Sean regretted not talking to the violin man most days, even on the way home. Powerful as Sean was, he was lonely too.
.........
