It's Friday evening, or early night, and the Columbus Circle station is quiet. Opera is belted out through the rattle boom boom thrum rattle boom boom of incoming and ongoing trains by a woman near the uptown number one. Level down, the uptown ACBD, underneath the cant of stairs, a man in coattails and white face vibrates and spasms to magical music box bells. These people are the gems of this city. They don't know it, maybe, but their creativity beyond that which is so often heralded is what makes this place worth living.
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