The peace that emanates through Washington Square is unprecedented. No one is protesting? Correct. But I am partial to peace. I sniff out its trail from under the Washington Square arch toward the found. I lose it’s trail there but find it readily at the piano that emanates a wavery melancholy tune. It sounds beautiful. I ask the students what the piece is that the white-haired lady is playing.
“Beck,” they say.
“Bach?” I say.
“No,” they say. “Beck.”