There he is—Panama hat tilted just right, white T-shirt with a palm tree that looks like it survived the laundry wars, a cellphone stuffed in his chest pocket, and (wait for it)… a sandwich sticking out of his pants pocket. Stylish, right?

Oh, and the soundtrack? A violin playing from his phone like he’s got a personal orchestra following him around.

He’s got an old white mustache, the kind that smells exactly like Dad’s did. A big panza that he wears proudly—no belt, no shame, just pure belly confidence. His ankles peek out like they’re enjoying the sun too. Black sunglasses complete the look. Basically: Latino James Bond… if James Bond loved sandwiches.

He sits there, eating, listening to music, totally zen. Meanwhile, I’m staring like, “Who IS this guy?!”

Earlier he was speaking Spanish with an old man in the store. Then he strolled over to me like always—like nothing in life is too heavy. Even HER overseas cancer feels lighter around him. She laughs, she planed, because that’s what normal people do. Laugh and plan.

The violin keeps playing. The sandwich gets smaller. My smile gets bigger.

I don’t know what an overture is—maybe this is one? Whatever, I’m just a tired girl trying to make sense of life. But seriously… who is this man? Hi hands are incredible elegant!

I MET these hands gestures BEFORE!

He doesn’t even bother with a belt. Just belly and vibes.

Sandwich with pesto, elegant, music, and class.

He looks so much like Dad it almost hurts, but in the sweetest way.

And then—plot twist—he gives his last bite of sandwich to a bird. “That’s all,” he says.

Like some old-school movie hero. I love this man!

Maybe he’s gay, maybe not. Who cares? He’s elegant, kind, funny, and normal. No dirty tricks, no politics, no games. Just an old man enjoying sunshine with a sandwich and a symphony. And me!

Hands folded over his big belly, shades on, violin still playing. The world needs more people like him.

Love you, old man. Never change.

Now tell me… what’s the name of that symphony?

Two Asian a man and a woman (Chinese) came up, and one of them took a picture of me in the background of their single-shot photo. My old man got upset—he tossed his napkin into the trash and walked away.

I don’t like these spy-like actions intruding into my real life.
Go to hell—and target them, not my real, genuine life!

Let my oldy live his life! And me too!!