Bobble Head 

Hey Garcia,

Imagine this: it’s fall, 68 degrees, a clear cerulean sky, and not a thought in my mind. I get out of the gym at the Intramural sports building which is a pain to get to on the weekends. The Commuter South bus stops running so I gotta actually spend the 20-minute walk there and back.

Once you get out, you see a good line of houses and three intersections where you have to stay put like a sweet summer child for at least a minute each. On the second intersection shaped as a slanted x, there’s a Domino’s at the sharp corner and a line of local businesses on the other side: Moon Cafe, Pizza Bob’s, a sports barber shop, and a shared building of a knack alcohol joint and a shady barber cave. There is a skinny old dude who works there every day. This reminded me of how each one of those shops had one thing in common. They all looked super old, dirty, and dilapidated. Perfect for those who want a good time though. 

Like usual, I walked up to the intersection just for it to turn red. Looking down sourly, I noticed cars started to pull up to the intersection, one of whom had blaring “white girl music.” Like a hawk, I immediately rotated my head to stare at the source. All I saw was a “funky white boy” with a Yankee cap and sunglasses. After a small amount of time had passed, he noticed me and started bobbing his head to the music. Like a call and response, I immediately started bobbing with him. We pointed at each other, and he departed when the light turned green. I felt like a dad waving his daughter off on a moving train like those old movies. He was a real one.