I live in "The Heights" in "The Big Apple", not far from where Paul Robeson lived and worked. The voice of "Old Man River" himself. Other voices and sounds engulf me. My voice vibrates as one of many, in this exotic unique place. It pierces the crowded streets, through the noise and bustle, offering distraction and even comfort. It reminds me I have not given up and there is still hope. I raise my voice to be heard, so as not to be ignored or lost in the vast chaotic clamor. The struggles and challenges here are immense, and yet the colors, textures, and cultures are woven into one undeniable unity. An awe encompassing cacophony of sound. A bombastic symphony. We can even find solace in the damp rat infested confines of an ever echoing chamber, in a vast cavernous underworld. "A poor man's made of muscle and blood..."16 Tons" expresses a weight, that like life seems almost impossible. to bear. Raw, no filter, no amplification; as real as the New York City Subway itself. I feel the true sound of my voice vibrating through my body and down these halls, releasing my burdens, and leaving me with an exhausting sense of peace.