So this guy starts smiling at me on Calle Balmes and he’s so sweet natured, I could just tell, so I smiled back. Anyway, I was returning home from a long slow walk, escorting a 91 year old family member to her Memory Class, I wasn’t in a hurry. I mean: a lot of things happen in one day. I was hacked. I had my back cracked. (on purpose, I’m just fine!) San Bernardino. Who is this guy? He had a beautiful smile, he was well-dressed in old ivy leaguey tweeds and when he told me he was a poet, he took the words right out of my head. I was in Berkeley again, light years ago, I was heading to the future when the social media lights go out, I was standing so still, I was lost in time and space and I asked him some questions. He is 24. He doesn’t blog. He has a facebook page, but so do at least a dozen others with the name he uses, Marshal Mathers, Eminem. He loves Eminem. So do I. So what’s he asking for and why? He’s definitely not interested in me. He wants to publish his poetry and a rap CD. The title is pretty corny, but I don’t care. Didn’t he ever hear of Crowdfunding, yes, he knows what it is, but that’s not his style. He wants to meet people on the street. He doesn’t ever even care to twitter and tweet! How much I ask him? What? Two euros? It’s amazing! It’s incredible! It’s doable! So for once in my life when I actually have coins, I hand them to him and he gives me his handmade street poems. I have the little book before me now. 7 poems with corny titles. Who cares! It’s paper! He made it! He’s off drugs. Out of treatment. Loves his mother. Loves all brothers. He’s smiling. He’s walking. He’s meeting people. He’s talking. He’s young. He rhymes! He’s unique.