Yours Truly was minding her own freakin' business.
And she was at the inner-city gas station/deli/icecream stand/car wash to glean some over-priced, governmental and inter-nationally taxed and gouged out the wazoo gasoline.
At the pump in the shade YT looked up to see a man in his 60s at his own temporary pump.
High, he said.
YT, ever having problems with homonyms, having shot a plethora of rock concerts in her lifetime, heard Hi.
Hi, YT semi-shouted back at the man at his own temporary pump.
To his quizzical look.
Oh, he stated, kind of looking the direction of YT, I meant High, as in the prices.
Oh, YT stated, I thought you were saying Hi.
Glancing at his vanity plate, YT asked him if his name was indeed the name on the plate.
He did not see YT first looking at his plate before the question so he was amazed that YT quite possibly knew him.
Your plate, YT said, pointing.
There was a great degree of confusion at that inner-city gas emporium, the very same joint where YT was able to purchase sustenance after the October Surprise Storm: cheese, coffee (limited - only 1 tall/customer ... rations!), and water.

Tonight, as YT left a gig a chef pal and another asked What, You are leaving without some cheese, we have cheese put aside for you.
This type of conversational thread makes YT oso gleeful.
Nearby a dog snores.
Nearby another peony blooms and lets off an amazing scent ready for a good, deep sniff.

Good, deep Love.