They're sharing a drink they call loneliness, but it's better than drinking alone

I live in a historic house that predates the Civil War.  It's charming and quaint, sure.  It's also old enough that certain modern conveniences, like air conditioning, are out of the question.  The house is not built for it.  Not even for a window unit, as the electrical wiring won't support it.  So during the dog days of a Pennsylvania summer (90°and 69% humidity at lunchtime yesterday), I pull out the fans and sweat it out. I also live downtown on a street that gets enough traffic to send a good coating of dust through my windows daily.  The front wall of my house is right on the sidewalk, and with the windows open it is downright loud most of the time. I've gotten quite good at tuning out the dust, heat, and noise, and going about my business. 

Sometimes, though, things happen out on the street that I would never be aware of if I didn't live in this old house with the windows open, and it feels like the universe has just sent me a treat.  Like this morning.  I'm sitting at my desk, checking my e-mail, when I become aware that the traffic outside has stopped at the red light, and I can hear loud music blasting from someone's car.  Normally it's rap with the bass turned up so loudly that my windows rattle, or Nickelback.  The people in my traffic are exceedingly fond of Nickelback.  But this morning?  Billy Joel.  Specifically, the song "Piano Man."  Accompanied by some driver who is singing along with reckless abandon.  In a Jetta, with the windows down.  He's sitting at a red light, singing a Billy Joel song with his head thrown back and his eyes closed.  Singing badly.

You know the saying, "Work like you don't need the money, love like you've never been hurt, and dance like no one's watching."  I'm going to add to it, "Sing like no one is listening."  Because that just made my whole morning.  Jetta Dude, we're all in the mood for a melody, and you've got us feelin' alright.