A gray Thursday in the park, the platoon guitarist pleads \u201cLet It Be\u201d at the Imagine Mosaic.\u00a0 By the lake, the jazz combo\u2019s drummer pounds out a samba, joined by bass, guitar and horn.\u00a0 Colin is still playing at the fountain, for another half hour, he tells me.\u00a0 Along the path to my second venue, it is strangely quiet:\u00a0 no caricaturists, hand-writing analysts, artists.\u00a0 I set up under the maple, where, unlike at the fountain, I don\u2019t need to project, so even my busking is subdued.<\/p>\n
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Then I spotted Eugene and his parents, fresh off the red-eye from California.\u00a0 Eugene was a stocky early teen, with bright pink hair, shaved at the temples.\u00a0 \u201cHave you got time for a hula today?\u201d<\/p>\n
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The parents kept walking, but Eugene had time.\u00a0 I set him up with a lei and simple instructions, then off we went to the hukilau.\u00a0 Mom and dad came back to take pictures, while Eugene grinned broadly through his orthodontics.\u00a0 He told me he too played the uke.\u00a0 I handed him mine, and his parents and I chatted until Eugene was ready to sing his song.<\/p>\n
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\u201cI haven\u2019t played in almost 3 weeks,\u201d he said, by way of apology.\u00a0 His first chord was D major 7th<\/sup>, a teenage angst-filled chord if ever there was one.\u00a0 When he was done, he handed the uke back to me and reached for his wallet.<\/p>\n <\/p>\n \u201cNo, mom,\u201d he said, when she offered to pay.\u00a0 \u201cThis was my thing.\u201d\u00a0 He had a dollar out and ready.<\/p>\n <\/p>\n \u201cI\u2019ve got it,\u201d she said, and handed me a fiver.<\/p>\n <\/p>\n “Thanks, Mom.”<\/p>\n <\/p>\n I packed up my gear and headed for Bethesda Fountain, where Colin was finishing up.<\/p>\n <\/p>\n A young couple walked by.\u00a0 \u201cHave you got time for a hula today?\u201d<\/p>\n <\/p>\n They were from Tennessee, he visiting her, who now lived in Flatbush.\u00a0 They danced beautifully together, with beatific smiles, very much in love.\u00a0 When I took back the leis, he handed me another fiver.\u00a0 The warm aloha of Eugene and Tennessee had already made the day a great success.<\/p>\n <\/p>\n All of a sudden, as loud as can be, \u201cThe Theme from the Godfather\u201d crashed into my conscientiousness, played on the accordion.\u00a0 I looked in the corners under the balcony formed by the stairs, both north and south, where accordionists, like cockroaches, can be found.\u00a0 I looked along the edge of the fountain.\u00a0 I couldn\u2019t locate the source at first, but there he was, his back to me, not even 90 degrees from where I played.<\/p>\n <\/p>\n There is an etiquette to busking, the first rule of which is you don\u2019t set up against another busker.\u00a0 Here was a gross violation. \u00a0I tried to ignore him.\u00a0 When I moved farther from him, he moved closer.\u00a0 It was maddening, hostile, intolerable.\u00a0 What was I to do?<\/p>\n <\/p>\n What I did do was finish out my set, put away my 2 fivers, pack up and head out, but just walking past the accordionist was not possible.\u00a0 I strode up to him and said, \u201cNext time you come out, how about looking around to see who else is here.\u00a0 You didn\u2019t even try to keep some space between us.\u201d<\/p>\n <\/p>\n \u201cVaffanculo.\u201d<\/p>\n <\/p>\n \u201cWhat did you say?\u00a0 Do you even know what I\u2019m talking about?\u00a0 Do you speak English?\u201d\u00a0 All the while he muttered unintelligibles, still playing his damned instrument.<\/p>\n <\/p>\n Now that I\u2019d lost my aloha, what?\u00a0 Push him in the fountain?<\/p>\n <\/p>\n It was time to leave.<\/p>\n","protected":false},"excerpt":{"rendered":"