She sighs heavily, the rumbling tracks reverberating through the background as she gently stretches her fingers to keep them loose. This is rush hour, and hardly a moment passes that a train full of relieved laborers doesn't squeal by, momentarily drowning out her voice. That voice, soft and guarded, pleaded for the recognition of the commuters. Her fingers plucked away at the keys dutifully, filling the platform with a hint of a song. A song that would fit perfectly with a film scene of a boy telling a girl he can't do without her, just before she walks away. Perhaps what's why she sang. If her life was that film, she seemed to be the boy, and the music was the girl, ever slipping away. But it was supposed to be different. New York was where she would make it. Where her previously lauded talents would finally be recognized, and she would live the life that she saw when her eyes were closed and her mind went free. So she picked a keyboard and some walking shoes and descended into the subway for the first time.
That was six months ago. Now, as the D train began to disappear around the bend, it's last bit of light fading into the tunnel, she closed her eyes once more. She felt the cool breeze of the passing car and lifted her voice, hoping that someone would really listen this time.