Every person who stops me on the street and tries to convert me to an Eastern Religion uses the same line, and I can see why. It’s an excellent line.
I work in the part of town where the twanging and screeching of buskers rebounds across the streets, adults in bibs holding plastic buckets stand on the corners collecting for the charity of the day, and pigeons bathe in the splash of the fountain.
I try to avoid the street as much as possible because, you know, people, but sometimes I’m hungry, in need of coffee, or I have a meeting down the far end of town, and I’m forced to venture into this madhouse.
When I do, there’s another type of person who often steps into my path and engages me in inescapable conversation.