Patricia, A Russian Family, an Unexpected Singer

The other day I was setting up at my assigned spot. The new location is not bad, now that I'm getting used to it. It's at a crossroads of hallways, guaranteeing plenty of foot traffic, and next to some tables from Au Bon Pain Cafe, where people sit and eat. Anyway, I was just about to start playing when I saw Patricia, my lovely wife, smiling at me, waving, from down the hall, as she approached. She's my biggest fan, as you might imagine. Also, in case you don't know, she is the co-author of all our August Sky songs. Often she would write a poem, then hand it to me, and I would set it to music. Rogers and Hammerstein, White and Reichenbacher. Three-quarters of the songs on my setlist are August Sky songs. Even though we are not performing as a duo any more, I'm keeping the music alive. Thank you, Patricia, for the gift of these songs.
No sooner did Patricia sit down at the table nearest me to listen, I was joined by a woman who was a little rough around the edges. She stood next to me and with a toothless alcoholic voice the same baritone register as mine, started singing "Oh, What a Beautiful City" gospel style, clapping to the beat, full volume. At first, I figured, I'd accompany her for a moment, then she'd move on. I played along, but after three verses, I could see, she was just getting warmed up, with no intention of stopping. Finally, I thanked her for sharing and told her, I was going to sing my own songs now. She continued full volume. I took a dollar out of the guitar case, thanked her again, and said goodbye. She stopped singing and asked for a second dollar. I shook my head, smiled, and thanked her again, then started singing. At that point, she turned and shuffled off, making her way to the tables, asking for money along the way.
It's all part of the fabric.
Today a family walked by, a father, mother and two teenage daughters. The mother was round and was dressed like a Matrushka doll. The father wore a neat brown suit. The girls were dressed more western. They smiled and nodded, crinkly eyes and gold teeth. I nodded and smiled back and kept singing. They slowed their pace, and the father reached into his wallet and took out a dollar, placing it into the guitar case. I had finished my song, so I bowed to them and thanked them. They bowed, smiled, then moved on. About a half hour later, they returned. I stopped singing and handed them a copy of the first August Sky cd. "A gift for you. Thank you very much. Where are you from?" I asked. "Russia," the mother said. They couldn't stop smiling. "Welcome to the U.S." I said. They smiled and moved on, looking at the cd as they walked away.
Yes, it's all part of the fabric.