The other night, I was sitting in my apartment with my girlfriend and a friend, sipping a glass of Chardonnay. As we sat talking, we noticed the faint sound of a string instrument. I turned around and opened the window. It was a banjo.
Somebody, in a neighboring house, was playing the banjo. Exhausted, I stayed in for the evening, listening to this stranger play for hours. I got into bed at 11, and the musician was still playing. I fell asleep, looking into the trees surrounding my bedroom, and listening to the tune of the banjo, mixed with the sound of the leaves brushing against each other in the wind. When I closed my eyes and pulled the covers up tight, it almost felt as if I was camping.
Yet another reason I love Oakland… one night I’m woken up at 2am by a car blasting Ludacris, and another night I’m lulled to sleep by the banjo. This city never ceases to surprise me.
