This morning, after exiting a packed Q train and elbowing a particularly obnoxious rider with poser purple hair all the way up the first flight of stairs, I heard an unusually soft and pleasant melody coming from my left. It's not unusual for buskers to be in that area but this was a new sound. My favorite guy -- an older man in a gold crown who plays rambling, psychedelic guitar riffs -- hasn't been there in quite a while, and the pan flute players who sometimes take his place were also (thankfully) nowhere to be found.

Today's entertainment was provided by a dreadlocked saxophonist. The tune sounded familiar and as my wave of passengers passed him it finally hit me: Pure Imagination. I'm not a big fan of the saxophone but I do love that tune and his rendition was true to the original melody, not a lot of flourishes or embellishments.

This nod to Gene Wilder's passing made me smile but it wasn't until I was street level that it occurred to me to acknowledge the moment with a couple of bucks in his hat. But that would mean going back downstairs and I was already nearly an hour late for work, and my wallet was at the bottom of my bag so... 

Starting tomorrow I'll carry some singles in my pocket. And the next time I see my guitar dude, running late or not, I'm gonna take a seat on the bench next to him and spend a few moments in Electric Ladyland.