six seven eight, triple nine, eight two one two

I placed my textbook on the table and curled up into the booth in the far back corner. A skinny, middle-aged man slouched over an oversized black briefcase one table over. Out of the corner of my eye, I observed him as he stared at the floor, talking into his cell, cheeks growing a brighter shade of pink every few seconds. “Baby, no. I can’t do that... What? Baby, there are people around! ....No, don’t do that. ...Okay.”

I glanced over as he began pounding out the beat with his empty coffee cup and started whispering the lyrics, "Girl, you know I miss you / I just wanna kiss you / But I can’t right now so, Baby, kiss me through the phone / I’ll see you later on / Kiss me through the phone / See you when I get home.”

Please note I’m not a Soulja Boy fan in the least, but never have I regretted not having a video camera as much as in that moment. When he cleared his throat, straightened his tie, and in the most dignified manner started on verse two (“You my future wifey... Yeah, you could be my Bonnie; I could be yo’ Clyde”), I had to bite my tongue and walk outside to keep from laughing out loud. Priceless.