Ah, busking. . . one of the many "oldest" professions. Speaking as a cured and seasoned busker myself, all draw near and listen.

I and three friends once busked in Berkeley, around '82 or so--the street scene there can be really *challenging* to deal with (wry understatement). So, there we are, brave combination of fiddle, piano-accordion and guitar, and we are doin' our best to lay down that old-time old-world groove to keep from getting lost in the madness. Let me tell you, friends, it was a real test of a musician's art--after the hare krishnas(twice), the moving clot 'o' drunks(smelly) and the poor lost soul who, after bidding an abrupt and noisy farewell to his breakfast(trash can, urk) proceeds to follow it with bible verses shouted incoherently in its wake.

So, after all that(sigh), it was indeed the right time for a friendly soothing waltz--so, the fiddle player strikes up tune called "Waltz of the little girls" and we all, gratefully join in. Now, who should (seemingly) appear from out of nowhere but this angelic lass, maybe 6 years old, Cute as, well, like fairytale cute--proceeds to dance, not the usual cute-li'l-girl skipping and hopping about, but seemingly developed steps and moves. I mean, it was Choreography, either she'd had teaching or was just naturally talanted but, let me tell you, it would have been a joy to play for anytime, but after All That. . . We kept going 'till she got tired and stopped. We gave *her* a dollar. It seemed like the right thing to do. It's one of my favorite tunes.

That is my busking story. NS