An older woman rhythmically walking a pitbull down a park path this morning, a little strut to it, the dog pulling on the leash, her headphones over stocking cap (for it is October now), singing loudly with an accompanying band that only she could hear.
Sometimes an urban individual singing loudly is occasion for casting your eyes aside; I remember being told in New York that a street rule was never to catch anyone’s eyes. But in this case, not so. We caught, she nodded, I nodded, and off she continued, marching that pitbull right past the road closed signage, down the very middle of the street.
Clap your hands (on the backbeat, please) and say it with me…
… I need somebody, that’s gon’ treat me right
I need somebody, that’s gon’ love me all night
I don’t want no part-time lover
No one-night stand
I’m a grown-ass woman
I need a grown-ass man.
Google calls this song “Grown Man”, but now we know better. The blues, universal and timeless, are still being written.
Lady, also universal and timeless, you made my day. Shine on.
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