SnowyReflection

A beatboxer stands in the subway, lost in thought. He's bundled up for the cold weather, the wisdom of age etched into his young face. The chaotic swirl of commuter life has halted for the moment, mankind's cacophony silenced. He blows his nose, his breath leaving him in an icy plume. Though surrounded by the concrete jungle, he finds monentary privacyclosed his eyes, which reflect the lively commotion around him as snowflakes dance down, transforming the mundane into the poetic. It's just him and the rhythm of existence. He is the man, the philosopher-feet tapping, hands counting, and mouth laying down the beat. With him, the subway becomes a transcendental beatboxer's playground, an unexpected haven for rhythm and introspection under the administering subway parkway. Silent and serene around him, he beats aloud. The subway, empty in a moment causing city dwellers who stand wallowing in their tracks to turn and stare. As snow hooks around their necks and fogging up their winter-hustling breath, the beat boxing hiphop beatbird stands out as a switch, a paradox –a street artist scattered in the haunt and hustle of urban life’s busy soundtrack.
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