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When I slipped below West Fourth street, an offhand piano recital gave rise to the best possible symbol of my New York:

The piano — mysteriously rolled(?) into the underground urban network — heaved a whimsical rendition of Mozart that soared above the rails, dancing along the subway tracks. The piano keys popped like whack-a-mole, rattling with oncoming trains like chattering teeth.

Normally frenetic passengers stood motionless, frozen like statues by the absurdity of the scene. “Oh!” and old woman squealed, as she leaned on her cane and snapped pictures: “This will look perfect on my Facebook!” The musician stopped for the surprisingly hip grandma. He gave her a peace sign as the symbol of his internet celebrity. The serenade resumed.

Two children whirred around the piano, dancing and smiling. Flailing, they soon collided with a scowling man. He was wrapped in chains and a backwards cap; his shirt said “THUUG.” Metallic iPod hip-hop blared from his ears.

Their smiles evaporated. He looked down, took out his earbuds…and joined their dance. in puffy Arsenio Hall pants. to Mozart.

Soon the C arrived, and the statues came to life. The piano keys chattered goodbye, and the five-minute concert dispersed.

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