On the way home from a show in Brooklyn last night, I stopped at the Hoyt-Schermerhorn subway platform (famously known as the location of Michael Jackson’s Bad music video). I needed to work out something about the show that was nagging me, so I picked up my guitar and just played for a bit. I didn’t make a cent at the gig, so maybe I could at least busk enough cash to cover my bar tab from earlier. I sang a song called ‘New York City is Killing Me’ by Ray LaMontagne; something I can relate to lately. Being down there, I felt a little better already. I didn’t care what anyone thought. This was real. I was just a dude in the subway. A couple stood by the pay phone, watching and smiling. The first person to drop a dollar asked my name. I told her it was Brendon.

“Brendon what?”

“Oh, Brendon Thomas.”

“Ok. Cool. I’m going to look you up.”

I saw her repeat the name to herself as she stepped on the train. A girl with dreadlocks and a fiddle on her back asked if I was from Nashville, because of a lyric in the song. I said no, it was just a lyric. Her name was Abbie. She was from Memphis. She said she’s only been in the city a year, but that she felt like New York City was killing her too, sometimes. I told her that was normal.

I am reminded how these interactions and brief connections are fulfilling to me.

I played a few of my own songs.  A flamboyant older man with sparkles on his face applauded each one. Another fellow wearing a Yankees hat dropped some change and said “Good shit. Keep singing bro.” A teenage girl listening to her own music on head phones looked annoyed when I sang loud. She walked away. I played ‘Love Against The Grain.’ Two young black dudes stood by and said they liked the lyrics. “I know what you’re saying man. Its real. I’m feeling it.” They told me about how you gotta work hard and stay independent. They told me how Master P sold 100,000 albums out of the trunk of his car before he signed to a label. Valuable insight, I thought. Then I remembered my closet full of Foreverinmotion albums, and how I need a car.

I was tuning while the next train came in. The platform cleared for a moment. A well dressed young couple stepped off. The man turned and asked me if I would play ‘Tiny Dancer’ by Elton John, which happens to be the only Elton John song I know. I actually sang it in the subways a lot when I first moved here. I said “sure.” They smiled. He set a small pizza box on top of the pay phone and put down his umbrella. He said they were thinking about getting married, and considering that for their wedding song. He took her hand and said “No pressure. But you might be the deciding factor in this.” They seemed very happy. I said “All I have to do is sing the song. That’s easy. The rest is up to you guys. Seems obvious to me what you want to do.” The woman grinned at me. I started singing… Blue jean baby / L.A. lady / Seamstress for the band.’ They danced together, about 5 feet from my guitar case, whispering in each others ear. He twirled and dipped her a few times. She was attractive. He was confident. They were both smiling. They had that ‘love look’ in their eyes. For the most part, they had the subway to themselves. It was a nice moment. When the song ended, he tossed a handful of cash in my guitar case and said, “Thank you. I think we’ve made up our minds.” He shook my hand. I told him they were beautiful, and wished them luck. He grabbed the pizza box, the umbrella, put his arm around her, and they walked up the stairs and into the night.

I knelt down and collected the dollars in the case. I had earned my money back and then some, though I didn’t really care about the money at this point. I felt like I had accomplished everything I needed to in that moment on a more spiritual level. I felt connectedness. I felt better. The next train was coming, so I packed up my guitar and stood by, ready to go home.