The grocery store and the strip mall next to it are connected by a sort of overhang. I always go through the overhang on the way to the store – there’s usually someone standing there texting, peering out in the parking lot for their ride. People park their bicycles there. Not a very exciting place.
At around eight or nine the other night, as I approached the overhang, I heard rap playing. Beneath it, two high-school boys with hoodies and a boom box were practicing their dance moves.
As I am a demon of disharmony, my mere nearness dissipating all music to nothing, my entrance stopped them, and they stood looking suspiciously at me as I walked past.
When I came back through on my way home, they were still practicing, but this time they were sufficiently in the zone that my brief presence did not destroy their synchronization. The song sounded rough enough that I suspect they recorded it themselves.
Today was the day for random strangers talking to me. On my way to work this morning I passed a six-or-seven-year-old boy who said to me solemnly, “Konnichiwa.” “Konnichiwa,” I said. On my way home, a teenaged boy on a bike said, “woh!” to me. I did not know how to interpret that, and anyway was tired, so I merely nodded. Woh.