Happy Feet

I met Wahz this morning on one of my first real forays out into the world after about a week of sitting home, nursing my rather sore person. The fact that we met up at the much detested Starbuck's was of no importance to me, the fact that it was not my apartment was more than compensation. The music being piped in was swing era music. At one point a song came on and I asked W. "Is this a very young Ella Fitzgerald singing?" W. didn't know and I by that point had become distracted anyway. Over near the creamer station was a middle aged couple. The man was getting his groove down. Brown tweed sports jacket, chinos and those half shoe, half boots that used to be called Wallabee's when I was a youngster.

His wife was ignoring him as he danced. Yes danced, grinning moving back and forth, then around his wife. She continued to address the deficiencies of the coffees with cream and sugar, not even glancing around. He, for his part, seemed equally unmoved by his wife's indifference as his feet shuffled around in precise steps. Really, he was pretty good. Then, his wife finished her ministrations to her morning brew and turned to go. Just as abruptly, he stopped and still grinning opened the door and they headed out without a word.

It's moments like these that make living in the city worthwhile. Some Waspy looking businessman, dressed in a way that couldn't be more dowdy, breaking out as Fred Astaire on a Saturday morning, in a place that couldn't be more dully uniform than Starbuck's. It's times like this that make me happy I'm alive, and as though I really did fall down the rabbit hole when I moved to the city.