In the enclosed above street walkways of downtown Minneapolis at lunch today, I came across an elderly man of slightly disheveled appearance peering through the window of a high-end jewelry store, bending over to look at the expensive rings and necklaces. His clothes were slightly worn, though not soiled as is often the case with the street people who stay outdoors, even in the winter. He wore one of those furry caps with the earflaps, though, and a felt jacket with a lumber-jack plaid pattern you associate with the Alaska bush country, so he clearly had come in from the cold recently.
Our friend was in striking contrast to the young and fashionable professionals that clog the indoor retail "streets" at lunch-hour. He was wholly ignored by all of them as they scurried to their noon-hour flirtations and fashionable lunches. They gave him not even the barest of glances.
As he peered at the pretty shiny baubles in the window of the jewelers, the man bobbed his head and sang in a clear, vibrato baritone voice that didn't at all suggest mental deficiency, except for the incongruity of the setting.
"Gooood Day, Sunshine....Gooood Day, Sunshine..."