His attire struck me as "business casual with a hint of jock." I quickly formed an impression of him, substantiating this impression by guessing his life story, based on what I was seeing before me, as most people tend to do, naturally, involuntarily; our being human is sizing people up. Convinced of this norm--not this day, but long, long ago--I went to work: This man played sports in high school, eschewed studiousness and never doubted his path to success; he was ever confident life for him would be OK -- better than OK, great and prosperous, in fact.
With his dockers, penny loafers and polo shirt loosely tucked in, it seemed, outwardly, things were working, and exactly in the mundane way he expected.
Today, however, this man's business casual was weighed down heavily by another look. A beaded look.
Around his neck he wore mardi gras beads. A lot of them, at least five or six strands deep. Fine, I thought, "He's in San Francisco and even though it's not Mardi Gras and there are no parades or celebrations whose occasion might prompt one to adorn oneselve with such decorative and radiantly colored beads, he's just, well, vacationing."
And this I surmised, was one of the many manifestations in which people of this ilk express their desire to make party, no matter the place or time of day.
All this, in an instant. I rubbed my brow, sighed, and continued on my way. For the next street block, I didn't look at anybody. Until, that is, I saw this other guy...
This isn't the guy. This is just a guy with some sweet beads.
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