Honest opinions on my story?

How do you like it so far:

It was seven A.M. The darkness that seemed to have began only a few seconds ago started to fade to the bright light of day. Well, not actual daylight. Yellow artifical light, filtered through crosshatched glass. It took a moment for Joe’s pupils to dilate, for them to filter in the right amount of light and adjust. He looked around. The car he resided in was mostly empty, dominated only by a large African American woman who watched his slow, measured movements with staring, hateful eyes. “This stop is-Times Square: 42nd Street.” The automated voice mumbled almost incoherently. Joe sighed and got up. He looked up and saw that the large black case and cardboard sign were still on the rack above him. He picked both on the rack and carried them gingerly and sleepily out of the train.

Joe trekked to his usual spot and put his things down. He breathed deeply and coughed as he snapped the latches on the faded leather case open and lifted the top. He pulled out the wooden thing that lie inside, and felt its soft curve wrapped around him as it had been for years now. He ran his ancient, arthritic, callused hands tenderly over the six strings that had been there for ten years now. He set up his sign and began strumming a simple twelve bar blues riff.