Walking up Grace Street this morning, I heard someone coughing up a lung before I ever saw him.
And when I did see the source of the sound, it was actually two guys standing on their front porch, each with a cigarette in one hand and a beer in the other. Grinning at their breakfast of champions I said good morning with a big smile.
As if on cue, they began singing in unison to me.
Baby, baby, baby girl
Baby, baby, baby girl
Baby, baby, baby girl
Baby, baby, be mine tonight
I couldn't help myself. I stopped. I turned around. I clapped.
They took a deep bow over the porch railing, smiling and nodding, acknowledging their fan base of one.
I can never overstate the random pleasures of a walk on Grace Street on a damp Saturday morning.
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