I emerged, blinking, from a meeting held in an office down on Washington Square. Piano music–masterful, lyrical, liquid–wafted through the air:
Later, I told Husband about this wonderful thing – the piano on wheels, the musician oblivious to passers-by with camears, the music pealing through the park.
“Oh that guy,” said Husband. “Yeah. He’s there all the time. I had some students here from out of town who were all excited about him. But he’s old news.
Only in New York, my friends, can a pianist who wheels his instrument into the square and regales the populace with wonderfully tickled ivories be considered No Big Deal.