I was in the bank the other day there was a man in his late twenties, slouchy pants, truckers cap and sick beats emanating from his pants pocket. I assume it was his pocket. Gosh I hope it was his pocket. And I assume they were sick beats, I really don’t know much about townie music. The music thumped just loud enough to hear, not from his ear-buds but from the speaker of the phone. Like he was the composer of his own personal soundtrack.
I’ve never been proud enough of any music I listened to to have assumed that EVERY ONE wants to hear it. But he was. Even when he was called to the teller the music continued to play in the background. I could tell that the woman behind the counter was a little bit distracted by it. Either that or she has a thing for baggy pants, because she kept staring at him, you know, in that general region.
Awkward. Trust me. Haha.
But she battled through, finished the transaction and soon our sick beats friend was loitering musically out the door. The lady behind me said weird just loud enough to be heard. The teller had a half smile on her face. Bemused is probably the best description to describe her face. Then it was my turn and I was a little sad to not have anything to offer the crowd. I considered busting into song myself but was a little shy.
The funny part is that I often have a soundtrack rolling around in my head. A literal the word match what’s happening musical style one. I hear a news story about Schoolies and I hear that song that has the chorus that says ‘you better watch out for the schoolies {?}’. I see a red light and I hear ‘STOP, in the name of love..!’. Really, that’s what it’s like up here. An all singing, all dancing cheesy musical where someone is singing my life as it happens. I kind of envy the quiet mind and sick beats of the man in the bank.
Naaaah, who am I kidding. I LOVE a good musical.
