Turn Down for What?

The kid on the subway playing rudimentary beats on buckets and wheezing tuneless nothings on a harmonica has finished his "performance" and his subsequent spiel about "just trying to earn a dollar" and how he's not "selling drugs or robbing people" (which, are those your only choices, like it's bother folks on their commute home or a life of crime?).

He's collected his pittance, and now he sits on one of his buckets, thumbing through his phone and playing a song he's found, no headphones, of course.

My heart pounds as he grins, oblivious, and I'm enraged at the unfairness of it all, thinking I need to say something, do something, but then I stop and think for a moment. Why am I so bothered by a kid playing some music quietly when, in less than five minutes, I'll never see him or hear his music again?