I stepped out of the shopping center this evening, to dusky overcast skies and the smell of rain. Drifting on the breeze was wonderful, live saxaphone music coming from a black man in the back of his pickup truck. He was playing Jazz like only a black man can, (even when it's politically incorrect for me to say so).
It was wonderful, like a breath of uniqueness in a sterile, prepackaged buy-this-now-and-don't-think world.
I rolled my windows down so I could catch as much of his music as I could.
I drove out of my way to thank him for his wonderful music.