The Busker

I was busking my favourite pitch at Camden Town station, singing Leonard Cohen’s Suzanne, plucking an arpeggio accompaniment. It’s one of my favourites; although I've also heard it described as music to slit your wrists by.

Which was pretty much how she must have felt when she stopped on that July day.

“You sound just like I feel – like shit!”

Her face looked familiar, dramatic eyes and big hair.  She saw me staring and grinned.

“You’d remember if you’d screwed me.”

“What?”

“Play this,” she said; breaking into the opening line of Will You Still Love Me Tomorrow.
I played and she sang - like a wounded angel - her voice full of beauty and pain. People stopped to listen.

They clapped when it was over. A tear slid down her face. 

“Thank you. But who ­­­­­­­­­­­­­­­­­­­­­­­­­­­­­­­­­­­­­­­­­­­­­­­­­­­­­­­­­­­­­­­­­­­­­—”

“Amy.” She kissed my cheek, climbed the stairs to the street and was gone.


I collected over thirty pounds in my hat; but it might as well have been thirty pieces of silver.

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