I was in the alley between Columbia Photo and the church on Ninth street when I heard music. Not from a stereo or a club, but coming from beneath the ground. Somewhere beneath my feet a church choir was holding a Wednesday night practice. I have walked by this window dozens of times, noting the painted music on the panes, but never making the connection. It was something of a Dickensian moment, to hear choral singing on a January night, too see shadowy figures moving about behind the warmly lit, leaded window panes of a church basement. All the while sliding slowly down the icy alleyway towards Eighth street.
