In Tampa, I sat in a small trattoria eating a
prosciutto and mozzarella Panini. It brought back fond memories of trattorias
in Italy. The current bread wasn’t as good, but pleasant enough.
Across the street was a street musician, passionately
playing a saxophone. He had to be my next stranger. I approached and
theatrically placed a small donation in his jar. He thanked and ‘God blessed’
me. I quickly explained 100 Strangers, and he said fine. Max was from
Cincinnati, but has lived in Tampa for twelve years. Then suddenly he began to
play and moved in wide gestures. He just wouldn’t stay still for a second. The
more I clicked, the more he moved. After several minutes I gave up and left. I
waved, and Max raised his eyebrows in acknowledgement.