While walking toward River Street in Savannah, I saw a tall, slim woman with looong hair on the other side of the street. Walking fast, I could not overtake her without breaking into a run. Not gonna happen. So I temporarily gave up.
A few minutes later I had arrived at the Savannah River's edge, and there she was, standing still. So I immediately approached her. As soon as I began to ask, a freighter blew a prolonged horn signal, six seconds of ear splitting noise. I just looked at her, smiled, and shrugged. When I got to explain the project she sheepishly said OK. She was shy with a tiny voice.
The problem came when I asked her name; I just could not understand it. She kept saying, “D-Y-S, then 'like the singer.” Ok, Dysinatra? Dystreisand? It took a quick Google search to find the singer Shakira. That was it, Dyshakira. How could a guy of my generation miss that? I hum Shakira tunes in the shower every evening.
Dyshakira is a Savannah native, and attends Armstrong State University, in town. She works as a hostess at the Westin Resort, on the opposite side of the river. She was waiting for a ferry. That's why she walked so fast, but then stopped.