There was He.
Middle-aged, foreign, cultured and robust.
He sat on a rigid, unforgiving wooden street-side bench. It didn't look comfortable, but He didn't seem to mind.
He was focused, intense.
His fingers flashed and rattled across the brazen guitar strings.
It was obvious that He was an expert in the field of Spanish Guitar. He was playing so vividly that a large crowd of slack-jawed bystanders began to form.
His hands continued to strum, his melodies flowed, rose, and crashed, and His smile cracked.
There was She.
Young, haughty, glamorous and busy.
She walked on extreme, unnecessary heels. They didn't look comfortable, but it was in the name of "looking good".
She was preoccupied, elsewhere.
Her voice heightened over the obnoxious noise of some guy on a bench.
It was obvious that She was an expert in the field of Haute Couture. She was talking into her phone so loudly that a large crowd of bystanders began to stare.
Her mouth continued to run, Her words meshed, strained, and shivered, and Her pace quickened.
And there was I.
Silent, intrigued, captivated, and fascinated.
I sat on cold, harsh metal. It wasn't comfortable, but I couldn't pull my gaze away from the art in front of Me.
I was present, enraptured.
My interest piqued as I watched a potential exchange fizzle.
It was obvious that I was an expert in the field of Passive Observance. I was watching as She obliviously hurried by absolute beauty that a large crowd of bystanders noticed.
My thoughts continued to wander, and I debated stopping Her or paying Him, instead my ears perked, and I just kept listening.
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