Overcast clouds were overlooking 2nd street, where a coffee shop with orange lit windows sat. Eccentric artists were working diligently to finish their self-praised “masterpieces”, while chess players turned the cogs of logic in their brains to resist a swift defeat.

It seemed as though everyone in the vicinity was uninterested in the static-electricity that was battling outside in the sky. Or maybe they were distracting themselves on purpose from the social stigma of “gloomy weather”.

I stepped outside to light my firmly rolled cigarette, and right as I exhaled the toxic smoke from my lungs, the sound of an accordion slowly started to fade into my ears from down the street.

Just as I was starting to think that all life ceases to exist when a rainy downpour starts to flood the streets of a city, I saw a peculiar girl with short, light brown hair, dance in the middle of the intersection, soaking every inch of herself in pearly droplets that came from the heavens. She was very content to be exactly where she was.

I looked over to the accordionist who was standing under an overhand with a fadora that covered his eyes, and a cigarette who’s orange lit end contrasted the navy blue concrete and sky. It was as if in that very moment I understood and truly felt the important connection between musician and dance.

I closed my eyes, swallowed a river of fresh air, and thought to myself, “How do I become as blissful as the dancing girl that I just saw?” Just then my phone started to ring, disturbing that bliss that I was trying to attain in that moment.