Recently, I went to the pharmacy at our local grocery store, Martin’s, and found my prescription wouldn’t be ready for pick-up for another 30 minutes. I snagged a small cart and got some chicken that was on sale and some bananas, but otherwise roamed around the store looking at my fellow shoppers. Usually, I’m too focused on buying groceries to pay much attention to the people around me, but there I was with some time on my hands.
In the produce section, I passed an elderly man with gray-golden hair to his shoulders and a long drooping mustache, who appeared dressed for an ’80s rock concert in which he was a member of the band: a loose-flowing, wildly colored shirt and a pair of tight orange pants. Were he to appear at dawn every day on my front porch, I might cut my wake-up consumption of coffee by half….