The forecast called for heavy rain. People began to scatter as they reached for umbrellas, or rushed to find an awning large enough to stay dry under, waiting for the showers to pass.
After walking a few blocks, the wind has just enough pull to gently guide me to a nearby bench. I take a seat followed by a deep breath.
I’m joined by a young girl who is scrolling through her phone while keeping the other hand busy by pulling on the zipper to her sweatshirt.
I notice someone else across the street, a young guy, waiting by the bus stop, an empty plastic bottle rolling back and forth beneath his feet. He’s being watched by a woman standing a few feet away, waiting for the same bus to arrive. Her stare deepens as she appears to grow increasingly bothered by the unpleasant crunching noise being created.
The traffic is impossible to ignore. At any time of day or night, it’s easy to listen for a beeping horn or yellow cab come to a screeching halt.
It’s getting late.
I make my way back and head into the train station. There is a couple who have bedding set up on the platform, it acts as a makeshift stage as I watch them advance on their instruments. Clearly regulars there, she begins to play a notable jazz tune on the flute while he lightly strings his guitar to match her rhythm.
At first, I take it all in at once. Then start experimenting with what I’m hearing. Using my focus, I attempt to isolate the flute from the guitar. The harder I concentrate, the more muffled and distant any background sound is becoming. I begin to reconsider what I’m hearing. I notice slight inflections I had missed previously, each note sounding warmer and richer than before. I realize the shift in focus is affecting my interpretation of the music, eliciting different feelings, the performance now holds a different context.
I allow the guitar to slowly fade back in, then out again. I repeat this a few more times, absorbing the difference in experience with each fresh shift of focus.
The train is here.
