Soundwalk Assignment

My Nighttime Commute: Penn Station at 10pm
My soundwalk begins as I step off of the E train and onto the station platform. Dozens of people rushing passed me, leaping onto the train as the "Please stand clear of the closing doors" recording is played. 
I head down the staircase, as a few hopeful stragglers hop up the steps, trying to rush toward a train, which...*the loud sound of the wheels beginning to turn* ...is now in motion. 
After weaving through the sighs and groans of a tired and defeated few accepting their fate, I begin to make my way to Penn Station. 
The walk from the bottom of the staircase to the turnstiles begins. Now only the echos of my footsteps and those of a few others heading in the same direction can be heard. It is the first and only quiet moment of peace I will have between the subway platform and Penn Station.
Turning the corner, the turnstiles are now in sight, and the momentary calmness is broken. A wheelchair stricken women is begging for change. As her voice fades out, the sound of a young man playing the trumpet fades in. I've grown accustomed to seeing him there night after night. He's become somewhat of a landmark of my everyday routine, a signal that I'm halfway there. Subway station performers come and go, but just about every night the trumpet man is sitting in the same spot in the middle of the long hallway. He sounds wonderful, and I enjoy hearing him, even if just for a minute on my journey. Soon, the trumpet man's music grows dim, and is instantly overshadowed by the mixed sounds of busy New Yorkers, commuters and tourists. I exit the turnstiles and the roar of the Penn Station begins.
Up the ramp, towards the heart of it all, I pass co-workers discussing their days, parents rushing weary children and a trio of older men playing guitars and singing. Positioned in an inconvenient corner of the narrow ramp, they take up a large chunk of space and their music loudly echos.
Finally free from the claustrophobic atmosphere, I look at the large screen on the wall with the train times...40 more minutes until my train arrives. I make my way to a machine to purchase my ticket. I hear another musician, singing along to an instrumental track playing from the speaker attached to his microphone. His speaker is so loud, I'm barely able to hear the announcements of the train track numbers for each station. I collect my ticket, check the time board once more, then venture on. I find a place to plant myself, but it only lasts for a few moments, I get bored easily, and am unable to sit still. With about 30 minutes until my train, I decide to take a walk through a store inside of Penn Station. They close soon, so there are very few people left inside. Mostly just employees, and a few bored and restless commuters, like me. "Can we get a mop in the men's department?" is muffled over the store's loudspeaker system, which a few employees respond to with groans. Once I've killed enough time, I make my way out of the store, and towards the huddle of people standing beneath the screen on the wall awaiting the announcements of their track numbers. I join the group, preparing myself for the announcement of my track number.
The impatient crowd is starting to fidget, then suddenly, "All aboard track 21 for the train to..." There is barely time to think as the stampede marches down the staircase to the track, all determined to get a seat on the train. "This is ridiculous" grunts one woman in the middle of the herd. Others in the mob of people are hurriedly discussing with the rest of their party which direction they would like to sit in, and if they want to sit in a car towards the front or rear of the train.
As the pack steps onto the platform and scatters to find a train car with empty seats, I can hear the conductor repeat, "All aboard track 21!" 
Luckily, I find an empty, isolated conductors seat at the front of the train car. I am finally able to tune out some of the sounds my fellow commuters, ready for some much needed peace and quiet.