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I've been cruelly mistaken by own lack of resources (generally I'm lazy to use even google) that this format doesn't allow a title. I seek forgiveness for my densely worded archive. But will not make changes for indolence.

On my way to meet the insurance agent yesterday after work, I saw an old man playing a gu3 zheng1 at the MRT. He was tanned and wrinkled like a lot of them performers at MRT stations. The instrument he had was not terribly old. The wood was bright and varnished; coloured prints of bird and flowers were visible. I had my silicone earplugs on and couldn't hear him playing, but still stood there, transfixed in a stare at his bent figure and bony fingers while the heavier metal version of "Papa don't preach" continued on in my ears. After some agonizing deliberations I stopped Kelly Osbourne in the middle and listened to the gu3 zheng1. After awhile I realise the melody he was playing was repetitive, a continuous cycle of notes that began and ended in themselves. It's like those never ending ancient sounds played in the background of a Chinese drama (actually that wouldn't have been a conventional drama). His fingers plucked and pressed mechanically. And soon I started to anticipate the next lun3 of the fingers.