There was a strange moment this afternoon.

I woke up early. Saw friends off on their trip home to California. Made breakfast. Bicycled downtown for a political rally in support of science on Earth Day. Just a typical Pacific Northwest Spring day.

After the rally, I biked to a little restaurant to meet my friends for some lunch. Through no fault of their own, they run longer than expected. The rain has subsided and the sun shines through for a while. While dressed in spandex bicycling gear and bright red bike jacket I lean against the bike rack securing my 1973 Peugeot.

A man comes walking my way, tiny dog on a leash. He has a red mohawk in need of side trim, fat ring through the center of his nose, and the dirty, black, studded, smelly clothes of a young gutter punk. And me standing there with my thinning mohawk and decades old facial piercings including a septum ring not that different from his own.

We glanced at each other and smiled. It was as though we each saw the other as ridiculous while simultaneously recognizing how ridiculous we looked to the other. A total understanding of not understanding. Kindred spirits generations apart.

Whisper words of wisdom, let it be.

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