Last night we ran into our favorite troubadour of the Chicago subway system, Tampico. We bet you've seen her around. Here, have a look:
Tampico has played one song, and only one, since we have known her. In that regard, she is like Lungfish, for her song is very near perfect. She taps her feet, strums the guitar, saws the violin, and whistles at the same time, which creates an epic drone that only ends when it is drowned out by the Blue Line roaring by. We have stayed and listened to Tampico, dropping dollars into her guitar case occasionally, for the better part of an hour. Three and four trains have gone by, but we are hypnotized. We are afraid Tampico may even think of us as a stalker. But how could we not listen to the perfect song? We wish our words could do it justice. Something ancient, like gypsy music, or a lullaby, or some piece of inner-being stillness takes place. You have to hear it for yourself, friend. Ride the rails until she shows up.