Is that all...

Barcelona, Spain. 2009.

"Is that all you were gonna come at me with?" he says as we see other for the second time on the street last night.

To be clear I don't know him, we never met. Not formerly were we introduced through or by anyone. We had only exchanged an innocent glance that had happened an hour before as I shuffled myself into another art gallery to appease an unhappy client by "researching" possible selections to acquire for their home. 

This man played a guitar out on the street. As I passed him, I nodded and smiled. I had wished I had a dollar to drop him but I didn't so I quickly went past and made my way into the crowded art gallery. 

But in this instant when this man says this to me while still wearing his knockoff Raybans, even though the sun has long since set and twilight is upon us, he looks as though he wants me to gesture or say more.

Perhaps he saw an instant that I didn't. Or is that there's something to be said about a man who assumes that because he straps on a guitar that every woman is ready to chase after him. I don't expect every man to chase me down because I wear a short dress or skirt or change my hair color. I'd rather they'd want to spend time with me because we get along... or that I'm more than interesting to them.

There's something to be said about a moment when it's had. This clearly wasn't it. So I kept walking. Wondering to myself: How often did his line work? Did he often expect women to come at him with game? Indeed.

Before he interrupted me I was thinking and heading back to my car realizing I hadn't found the perfect picture to come back to my client with and the only piece I had truly wanted to acquire, a photograph, probably wouldn't come through either. I was thinking and wishing all artists remembered emails, text messages and phone calls and... I was recalling another artist who makes me laugh because it's a situation where the roles are reversed and as a client I do try my best not to be as difficult as my clients are with me. 

As my laugh quieted I was still smiling. But this time this man was walking toward me and passing me. As we scooted by each other he interrupted my thoughts to ask with a bit of arrogance "is that all you were going to come at me with?" I paused but only long enough to realize he never took off his sunglasses or really bothered to talk to me. He looked me up and down like I was just another faceless nameless girl to him and he'd expected something that wasn't worthy of him. My time.

I do not wish I had taken his picture. I do not wish I had captured a name. To him I was nothing so I figured it was best that he remained nothing to me. So I kept walking and said nothing. Because I had nothing, no moment, no cash to give him. It best to leave him where I passed him in the street without another thought.