Opinions on my story?

It's kinda long, but bear with me. No grammar or spelling corrections, please:

It was seven A.M. The darkness, although it seemed to have begun only a few seconds ago started to fade to the bright light of day. Well, not actual daylight. Yellow artificial 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 instrument 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. This riff was widely accepted as the easiest existing blues riff to play, and was used in almost every blues and rock song out there. Joe preferred to play things that could be accepted by anyone as whatever song they wanted. This got him more tips without taking people’s requests.

But alas, the fish were not biting today. The identical suits passed by. Joe noticed that there were only 7 types of suits businessmen bought. He also noticed that in each group of people that passed by, there were exactly seven people wearing each one of these seven suits, and seven people who weren’t wearing suits of any kind. Joe noticed at least seven of these groups per hour. The only people who did pull out their wallets for Joe were the ones who wore no suits. He remembered one kid that had passed by many months ago…

…I remember…It was almost…7 months and 7 days ago. At first he walked right past me, didn’t seem to take any notice. But then he backtracked as if he had dropped something, and stopped right in front of me. He listened for a moment, tapping his left foot like it was spring loaded. He then pulled something small and brown from his pocket-could it be-yes, it was-his wallet. He reached inside, kept his hand there for a few seconds, and then pulled something out. It was only one bill. I was grateful nonetheless, and thanked him. I had seen a 5 on the bill as it glided slowly into the case, but I could have sworn I saw a zero…I checked the bill, and realized that it was a 50. I ran to offer more thanks to the kid, but he was already gone. I came back to my little nook, only to find that the $50 was gone. Just gone, disappeared into thin air. I saw a man running away, and figured he was the culprit. But I didn’t go after him. Anyone who steals money from a homeless man must really need it.

One businessman stopped before Joe and listened for a moment. But his coworker told him that the train was about to leave and they had to move on. The next train didn’t leave for 15 minutes. It’s amazing how much you learn if all you have to focus on for 10 years is music and the automated voice telling you what train is arriving when.

The day passed slowly, like a nightmare that you want to wake up from but just can’t. At the end of the day, Joe looked inside the case. Seven dollars. The same amount he had almost every day. Sometimes his spare change added up to $7.07, $7.70, or even $7.77 a few times. Joe glanced at the overhead clock. It was almost midnight, an understandably dead hour in the subway station. A single man in a trench coat and sunglasses with a suitcase and a cigarette passed by and sat down next to Joe, without the fear or disgust most people had when they came within 100 feet of him. Joe turned to him and greeted him. The man greeted Joe back with a quick “Hey,” without turning his head. The man looked around absentmindedly. Joe asked the man, “What are you doing here at this hour?” The man turned towards Joe, an expression of concern behind the sunglasses that he used in an attempt to hide his face. “You a cop?” he asked, then took a long puff on the cigarette. Joe replied with a blunt “No” and continued staring into the man’s dark frames. “Good,” Said the shady man. “To tell the truth,” he continued, “I’m a dealer. I’m waiting for my client to show up.” Joe mumbled something to himself and looked around the station with the man. The two sat there in silence for a half hour, when the other man broke the silence with, “Forget it. He’s not coming, he was supposed to be here 45 minutes ago.” He stood up and was about to leave, when he looked at Joe and smiled. “How’d you like to