He pulled out an old, battered boom box. It looked like it had come out of some old 80s movie, but he didn’t really care. It still played well, even though he had to kick it every once in a while if it stuck. It was everything about his personality that he liked the most - it may be worn-out and beat up, but it was still putting up a good fight.
He put in an old cassette tape, back from the days when CDs didn’t even exist, never mind iPods or Zunes. It was The Smiths, and the music blasted out loudly on the crowded street, causing an elderly couple to jump at the sudden noise. A couple of people gave him a second glance, wondering what he was doing, but most continued on their way, never even considering who he was or why he was there.
Another man half ran around the corner, and, with a smile, joined him. They were dressed in identical outfits – jeans under a long trench coat and sunglasses. The new arrival carried a few gallons of water, and his friend pulled out several bottles of bubble solution, along with a couple of containers of dish soap. Together, they began to spread these newly disclosed items across the sidewalk, and more people stopped to watch, while others became annoyed upon realizing that their shoes were wet and soapy, swearing loudly as they crossed the street. One girl in a pair of suede heels ruined by the soapy water yelled in the men’s faces, but they ignored her, concentrating on their task.
Once the sidewalk had been thoroughly covered, they took out sponges and attached them to their knees and elbows. The first song had ended, and the man who had brought the boom box ran over to hit pause, slipping a little on the soapy solution they had created. A few people laughed, but he kept a straight face, except for his eyes. The people couldn’t see them through the lenses of his sunglasses, but they were laughing and filled with excitement.
As soon as both men were ready, the first man pressed play, and Hall and Oates’ “You Make My Dreams” started to play. They simultaneously slid across the ground on their knees, their trench coats flying open. They collided in the middle, turned around, and dove back down onto the sidewalk, this time sliding on their stomachs, the sponges on the their elbows and knees offering coverage.
They broke into a synchronized, choreographed dance for almost the entirety of the song. They kept on looking at each other and laughing, performing cheesy, old dance moves like the sprinkler and the shopping cart. At the end, they both broke off doing their own thing. The one on the left did a back flip, landing on his feet. The one on the right was not as daring - he finishes with a squatting pivot around his left foot that makes odd scraping noises, and stands up.
He glances at the ground where he’d been shuffling a moment before. Their ¬bodies have pushed and prodded the clusters of soap bubbles, crushed and streaked them across the sidewalk in arcing vectors, looping around, seemingly purposeless, but all intercon¬nected. They look beautiful, at least.
The song ended, and the two men received thunderous applause. Traffic had practically been stopped altogether on the street, and together the two men bowed, before picking up their boom box and running away, leaving a cheering crowd, some very upset policemen, and a sidewalk full of bubbles.