My lunchtime walk, this time, on a job in Beverly Hills. I’m at the crosswalk, waiting for a very long light. Crossing is tricky here and takes two tries through the light. There’s a meridian in the middle.

A weatherbeaten blond guy on a bike comes towards me. He stops right at my sneaker toe.

“You like Kurt Cobain.” It’s a not a question - more of an assertion. I know this is a long light, and there’s no way I can ignore him. That said, I can’t encourage him, either.

“Mmmm … not really.”

“Ronnie James Dio.”

(Wow! I’m fascinated by people’s thought processes. I should have been a shrink. That’s a good one! I haven’t heard that name in twenty years, but I have to hide my fascination.)

“Nah.”

“Freddie Mercury!” His chin is up now, he’s trying.

“No.”

“Robert Plant.”

“Yeah. I like Robert Plant.”

“Well - who else do you like?” he’s exasperated. I picture the Vegas marquee:

“Tonight! The only singers in the world: Cobain! Dio! Mercury! Plant!”

I have to throw him a curveball. Dammit, this light is long.

“Frank Sinatra.”

He squints then jerks his head down and stares hard at my sneakers then looks up at me.

“You’re only twenty eight years old! How can you like Frank Sinatra?”

“You don’t have to be old to like Frank Sinatra you know.”

“You are too young! So is it true about redheads–”

I hold up my hand. “I’m outta here.” The light finally changes.

Update: Almost 24 hours later, in almost the exact same spot, there’s Courtney Love. We do that “hey” nod thing and I keep walking on to the park.