Gemotions

The busker on the corner was butchering it, a sloppy rendition of his most famous ballad. He, David, watched from across the street. He had not expected this. He adjusted his scarf and leaned against the brick wall. A crowd had gathered, and some were even tossing coins into the open guitar case.

He listened, his head tilted slightly, assessing the singer’s technique. The melody was off, the timing erratic, the lyrics mangled. He chuckled softly to himself, a low sound lost in the city's din. Still, his song was being heard. He could never be sure he could've made something that would reach this many people, in this way. He took a photo.