Sitting here outside Peet’s Coffee in downtown San Francisco, I people watch. I’m sipping green tea, working on a mic-reactive Jitter patch with my main Tinderbox document open on another screen to capture ideas… and people watching.
A few moments ago a pair of ancient ladies came stepping gingerly along, arm in arm. One was likely the daughter of the other, both were old enough to have personally known Solomon. As they walked, the younger released the other’s arm to briefly turn and inspect an anti-Bush poster on the wall. The moment they separated the elder, unaware of the new arrangement, stepped a few feet forward and began to fall.
At this precise moment, a young man walking swiftly up behind them passed through the position where the younger woman had been standing. He reached for the falling lady’s air-grasping arm just in time to keep her from going down on hard concrete, then escorted her to the entrance of the coffee shop.
As he held the door open with one arm and helped steady her with the other, she looked at him with astonishment and said “You’re not Hope!”
He saw me smiling, looked back to the old lady, and said “Well ma’am, perhaps I am.”
