h a l f b a k e r y
Like gliding backwards through porridge.
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You swipe your ticket. You descend the
escalator and round the familiar corner into
the cavernous main connection hall.
Except you're not assailed by that bloke with
the saxophone. Instead, lined up in a
carefully chosen area is a string quartet, a
choir of professional singers or even
orchestra. Paid, of course, for their time; and
not playing too loudly, and not playing
anything excessively discordant, so that all
who pass by feel stresses and strains float
away and a calmer sense of being caress
their tired minds.