Krokodile tears

"Nowadays the Upper West Side gleams, and people talk about stock bonuses, real estate, and power strollers. For many, I think, "opera" means the Youtube clip of Paul Potts singing on Britain's Got Talent. But today while in a tiny hardware store, I heard "Nessun Dorma" ringing out from the shop next door -- Pavarotti's voice, young and virile. The hardware customer next to me said gravely, "It's a sad day." Nodding, the clerk gestured toward the shop. "He's been playing him all day," she said. I peeked in. The place, maybe the size of my old dorm room, is called something like "Opera Lovers Shop." The owner, shaggy and bespectacled like a Koren cartoon, was hunched over his desk. Figuring I had to say something, I blurted, "You're going to make everyone in the neighborhood cry." He didn't respond, and I figured okay, opera snob. But right then Pavarotti's voice, confident and passionate, was blasting toward the climax. And I realized two things. The guy wasn't ignoring me; he could hear nothing else. And he was crying."

Ok, I love Pavarotti and it's sad he's gone, but there's been a Krok-alum email chain going around, the emotional equivalent of 'mine's longer than yours' as people compete to write about how much more Pavarotti means to them. This quote was, at least, Expos quality writing.