How To Catch A Misfit

I spent today at the Boulevard in Largo. I helped the ladies of Largo select shoes.

I sell shoes. It's what I do. When ladies need shoes, I'm the one they come to.

I left work around 6:15 this evening. It had been a long day. A long day in Largo. My throat was dry and my feet hurt. Outside was darkening and the wind was cold. But I didn't mind. All the ladies of Largo left happy who entered my shoe store today.

I made my way to the metro. I passed a man.

I had passed several men, and many ladies too, but this man was not like those men. He wore the most serious of expressions. There was something in the way he walked that made him different, and I think the only difference was that there was absolutely nothing in the way he walked. He was a tall, lean black man, dressed all in black. He was slow and cool, and he knew it. He was young but he walked with a cane. It was dark but he wore sunglasses. There was nothing intimidating in his demeanor, but he walked like someone around whom interesting things could happen at any moment.

Printed on his t-shirt was the word "Misfit."

I had taken three steps past him when he called back to me. I knew he would. He was the sort of person you just know will strike up a conversation on passing you at the Boulevard in Largo.

"Excuse me, can I ask you something?"

I turned around. Considered with apprehension what manner of question this particular man could have for me, and decided I was much too interested to say no.

"Go."

"What do you think a 'misfit' is?" he asked, taking a step closer and indicating his shirt.

I promptly answered, "You." At this his serious expression melted and a grin lit his face.

"That's a pretty good guess!" Then the seriousness resumed.

"I'm Misfit, by the way. I'm a rapper. I rap. My rap name is Misfit."

Misfit proceeded to invite me to his show that night. Single tickets for only two dollars. But I had just finished a long day of selling shoes to ladies in Largo, and my throat was dry, and my feet hurt. I declined. So he gave me his card.

"Well then check out my website. Does your phone have a camera?"

"Uh, yeah."

"Could you take a picture of me?"

So I did.


"Okay, well it was nice meeting you. I'm Misfit, and your name is...?"

"Jean."

"Nice meeting you, Jean. Could you email that picture to me? My email is on the card."

"I'll try not to forget."

"Okay. Later." And he turned slowly and walked away.

This is unlike me, but I will refrain from cheapening his seriousness during this encounter. I will do this by not saying another word.