And as we walk down the street, buzzying of people, just in that corner about to exit Nordstan, where the trashy people hang, the grean haires punks, the odd beggar, the just odd, and the street musicians, I see him swiftly getting something up from his pocket.
I thought it was impossible to fit more than a coke bottle filled with ”a drink that gave him superpowers” and a cellphone and some papers in his jeans pockets, but apparantly, there even was space for, a harmonica.
And with a gentle expression and a focused face he puts it towards his lips, and starts to play along with the street musicians as we slowly walk past.
When they are out of sight he puts the harmonica back in his pocket with the satisfaction I’m hoping Sherlock Holmes allowed himself to feel after a solved crime. It seemed like something he’d wanted to do for months but just not found the right opportunity for. I hope Dr Watson felt as honored as I do being around a genius like that.
We did a high five and stepped onto the bus that arrived in front of us like an ordered limo.