Coins in your case

I walked passed you again on the weekend.

Your sweet singing voice cut through the city-street corner murmur. At regular intervals the approval of coins clapping chimed, as passer bye's dropped coins in your case.

I wish you hadn't dyed your hair red though...

And i wish you wouldn't wear those low-cut tops and short skirts and bash your eye-lids together every time a man walks by.

I wish you wouldn't play that game. I wish you would just play the music.