As he approach
ed, in the dark
and the noise
of the street
heard him sort of talking to himself, and he seem
ed young, with the demeanor
almost of a teenager
. But as he approached, I saw his big glasses
, his wrinkles
, the way his sleek toque
made him look out of place
. He hum
med to himself as he walked, but he was far away
and I couldn't make out the melody
He spoke to me. I have an aversion to lonely strangers at bus stops who try to make conversation. There are only so many times you can say "Good skiing weather, eh?" before it gets tired. He had a slight English accent, as though he'd moved to Canada sometime, but not long, before I was born. And he didn't seem to be one bit ashamed of asking me questions about my personal life, about work, about everything.
I answered as best I could, stiff and curt. His posture, meanwhile, was loose and relaxed, an actor after a warm up. Still, he hummed to himself, and suddenly I could make out what he was humming. It was Nirvana, "Come As You Are". I was floored. The old man at the bus stop was humming a song by Nirvana.