a cross and a treble clef no larger than a snowdrop petal inhabited her lapel; this tiny sign of music and belief suddenly crystalized the bus, and all these voiceless strangers, second class, barred from flight by price, became a snoring choir sonorous under her conduction. we hit all desired notes and destinations despite traffic and construction. the fact that I remember still that understated flash of silver against the greyness of her uniform makes me wonder how what I wear also works on others in the way that they sing.