A man in a faded sapphire Acura encroached our cross walk as we strolled in the morning sun towards Dolores Park. I wouldn’t call it a near miss, but it was close enough. We shook our heads and stepped onto the curb; observed with excitement that another pedestrian, a man just feet ahead of us, was utterly oblivious to the nearly near miss. With a second glance, we understood why. He wore over-the-ear headphones, covered in metallic paint that shot streaks of sun through the Castro like chards of light from a disco ball.
Given the nature of the miss that wasn’t quite close enough to be near, we forgot about incident by the time we reached the next corner. After a few hours at the park, a cheese tray and perhaps a few beverages of the frothy variety, we decided to call it a day.
Towards the end of our walk home, we traversed the same crosswalk – this time a little bit quicker to match the pace of the fog. Guess who walked right at us? It was Disco Ears, the same dude who was fairly close to being nearly hit by a car a few hours earlier in the very same crosswalk.
The odds of seeing Disco Ears, again, in San Francisco that day had to be infinitesimal (dare I say, not far from nearly impossible). But if you ask some, say James Redfield who wrote the Celestine Prophecy, just maybe it had nothing to do with odds: we were connected to Disco Ears, and there was a reason for us to share the street once again.
Truth is, I’m not so sure. It did make me think – every story as a beginning, middle, and end. The question is, did our story start and end with Disco Ears that day (with the park in the middle)? Or was our second trip across the street, just the beginning?
*A phew adverbs and homonyms were slightly harmed while drafting this post.