The other day I was kind of aimlessly walking around a subway station to waste time and get out of the cold. I heard an echo of someone singing in a peculiar voice on the platform which is not something I usually pay attention to but I love old people. So, being that this person was singing as if she may be a 90 year old woman, I was obviously intrigued. I walked up the the platform of the F train to find this girl strumming a ukulele and fixing that Leonard Cohen song that I thought Jeff Buckleys polished mopey pony voice had ruined for me for good.
She had a bum knee and was tucked into a corner of the station that is commonly used as a hobos bathroom. Her clothes were tattered, and the pink hair that at some point must have made her seem like a whimsical pixie had grown out only to prove that she was just another person who was probably in a rough spot in her life. Yet her nails were still neatly painted, she showed genuine gratitude for the only dollar in my pocket, and sang one of the heaviest songs made as if she were welcoming the only 2 hung over college students in the station, to an expense paid vacation to Hawaii. She was probably my age, so it may be strange to say, but she was adorable.
I loved her cute little song and that she kind of blushed and rolled her eyes when she messed up, and how she pretty much didn’t care about anything but what she was doing at that moment.
Encountering people like her remind me of why I love living in New York.