The park bustles with movement and noise. People walking, dancing, running, talking to each other, singing, shouting. They are each absorbed in their own little microcosm of the world, focused on a task, or a word, or a step, or on another person sharing that one moment of existence with them. Watching them is like watching the wind blow soap bubbles about. He loves the way they collide and cluster, drifting singular and then the next moment connected by a common experience.
Paul taps him on the shoulder, drawing his eyes away from the highschoolers flinging a frisbee back and forth. Tina is warmed up and ready to go. Joey's careful with the flute as he pulls it out of it's case. He does a few quick scales to make sure he hasn't forgotten the keys too readily, then starts off the song. He'd been up a bit too late the night before playing it over and the bridge is still giving him a bit of trouble, but judging from the crowd clustering around Tina as she starts to dance he doubts anyone would notice a missed note.