At Columbus Circle a woman play her accordion. Trains rumbled past, but her gentile tones endured in a tearful manner. The melody crossed from the imagined hills of remote Rommania to her homeland China. "I want to go home", she said. She played on, another train thundered past and tok me on my way. I was late, but her sweet tune was like a siren for something I was longed for. I am home, while I crossed the trunstyle to ascend into the light.