On the street

Too much time in a convention center, even when it’s got lots of windows and a big stature of a bear hovering over it, can make me feel a little crazy. One afternoon in Mile High City, overwhelmed by all the books and readings and overstimulation of the conference, I took an afternoon stroll on 16th Street, a pedestrian mall filled with food vendors, street performers, and people milling about.

I walked down the middle of the street, my face turned toward the sunshine, listening to the trumpet player on the corner whose music made me feel like I was a little kid again, back in my parents’ living room, playing on the floor with my brother while my father and his friends jammed. Although it was still pretty cool out, I’d taken off my fleece so that I could feel the sun on my bare arms.

As I wandered about, kind of oblivious, I could hear a young man shout something at me. His words didn’t register; usually when I’m in a city, I block out anything men shout at me. But then he shouted again, breaking my zen mood. I glanced his way and noticed him pointing. A bus was coming straight toward me.

I jumped out of the way, and the bus went rolling past.

Apparently the pedestrian mall isn’t totally free of traffic: buses shuttle people up and down the street. That’s a handy thing to know.