The other day, I was walking down a street near my house. My friends and I were planning to go out for Good Food Wednesday. A timeless tradition of picking a new, probably recommended or otherwise obviously strange restaurant and eating there. I was already restless and uneasy being back in Portland, so mostly just looking forward to good food.
As I was walking, I noticed a homeless man on a bicycle stop and begin to fan himself a little with a crumpled newspaper, just a short ways in front of me. When I came close, he addresses me flatteringly, “I’m sorry, I just-… I just wanted to tell you that I like your energy. You’ve got a good energy going.”
I looked at him for a second. “Thank you,” and I kept walking.
What I think is that one of two things happened here: he noticed something subtle about my character that brought up hopeful memories of his past, or his drug-addled mind saw something that I couldn’t. I wish that I had stopped to implore further on the notion of my energy. What made him think of my energy as good? What is this energy he speaks of? As though it were a vibrant color scheme, or a certain chord. I guess I’ll just have to take it as it is: I’ve been told that I’m flowing with good vibes.
We never got any good food because our beneficiary of the night threw a pizza in a car to save the lives of everyone within.