I’ve become pretty familiar with the subway system in New York City. I no longer need my laminated, color-coded map to live permanently in my purse like a security blanket when I venture to places in the city. I’ve seen, heard, and experienced a smorgasbord of cultures, music, and customs in those underground, cement tunnels. Chilly in the winter and stagnantly suffocating in the summer, the subway system is truly a unique city below the city. Once I saw an old man who had dragged his enormous heavy wooden harp two stories below ground to play on the platform for spare change. His talent astounded me and I thought, I would pay to hear this man on a stage . Other times, the sights are heart breaking. The homeless trying to keep warm in the winter or just looking for a dry spot to sit, hoping a passerby will feel compassion and drop in some change. There are the “regulars” – like the man when I switch from the 7 to the 6, who plays hymns on his Native American flute. And there are some