Driving down 23rd today, I was behind a black car, circa 1964 - mint, with the original plates. It looked like a chromed-out batmobile and filled the whole lane. At first, I thought the two large men in the front seat were having a heated discussion, but after a few seconds I realized they were singing - rapping - to each other. They took turns, gesticulating with their hands and shoulders - back and forth - like Shakespeare in the park at 45 m.p.h. I wanted to get closer, to see what kind of car it was, but they were moving fast. We flew across Boren - the intersection where one of my brother’s friends once ran a red light while driving a city bus - and passed John, heading for the big hill. I could barely keep up, and I never caught them as they weaved through traffic, but their conversation continued the whole way, and it was so improbable and grand and flawless that I found myself laughing out loud.
The cutest child on the planet tried to fall asleep on my lap while we sat in a sunny field watching a rehearsal of Shakespeare in the park - I couldn’t tell which play. The one with the cross dressing women, and the Duke.
Later, at VietWah Superfoods, the little girls in head scarves politely stopped playing so that I could pass by with my cart. The same girls shyly smiled at me as I was leaving, peeking over the shoulder of a burly bagger / security guard. He was bent low, admiring the bright pink purse toys they were clutching, still in the wrapper. In the seafood section, I looked at the loitering Talapia and the live clams, but I missed the bucket of eels. The ones that stick their heads out of the water and watch you as you walk by.
Maybe it was As You Like It.
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