The gentleman of color was playing his guitar outside the Walgreen’s. Instead of a guitar case to put contributions to his busking, he had a gourd-shaped woven basket. He also had a sign affirming his service as a member of the U. S. Marine Corps, adding “Semper Fi” and “God Bless.”

I went into the Walgreen’s and got some cash at the Chase ATM, bought a Diet Pepsi, and went back outside. The guitarist was wrapping up Billy Joel’s “Piano Man,” with a good melody line and easy-listening riffs. I put a dollar of my change in his basket and when he was done with “Piano Man” I asked him if he took requests.

“Whatcha got?”

“How about ‘Just My Imagination’?”

Pause. “How’s it go?”

[rusty a capella] “I WAIT at my WINDow I WATCH her as she passes by . . .” At the very end of my sorry recital he got a gleam of recognition. “Yeah, I think I’ve heard that one. Tell you what–you sing and I’ll play.”

Well, I walked into that one, all right. “All right.”

It might help to know that I don’t list Singing amongst my talents. I can sing only under ideal conditions, which include being surrounded by a shower stall, no one else listening, and only using the best of at least six takes. But he asked for it.

People entering the store seemed to be hurrying to get inside. People leaving the store seemed to be hurrying away. But it might have been “Just My Imagination.” But it felt good. But if it had been camcorded, I think there were ten seconds or so where we both sounded really good. And at the end I felt like a million bucks.

I shook his hand and said I hoped to see him again. With a slight smile he said, “Oh yeah, you will.”

*****

I thought of doing an artist’s conception of that performance. But after I took pencil, stump and eraser to paper, I had a Better Not moment, and this ended up on paper instead: