Yesterday, I did a bunch of errands. One of those errands was getting my car washed, since beatnikside, bohunk, and channelinglucy are going to be in town this weekend, and there's an excellent chance that they will end up in my car at some point. Whoever got the front seat wouldn't have had such a raw deal, but the back was scary, as 1) Nobody goes back there much; 2) When someone does go back there, it's usually two labrador retriever mixes; 3) I tend to toss empty Diet Coke cans and cigarette packs onto the floor behind the driver's seat, since it's not really trash if I can't see it; and 4) Ashes from my smokies have a way of being blown back there and accumulating impressively. So, I cleaned out what I could and then took the trusty Corolla down the street to be de-ashed and de-doggified.

Usually, people just sort of shift uncomfortably and avoid looking at each other in car wash waiting areas. However, in this one, there was a guy named Carlos who had come to have his car detailed, so he had a long wait ahead of him. Carlos had brought along his guitar to pass the time. At the table with Carlos was a woman named Pilar; she couldn't have been happier about the fact that Carlos had brought his guitar. She sang along with him and requested James Taylor. When I looked over and smiled, she said, "You know this song?" I nodded. "Well, sing, then!" she exhorted.

We sat there singing, laughing when we realized we didn't know the lyrics in the very middle of a song, and laughing more when Carlos played a song that got too high for me, necessitating a change of key between verses. (I'm an alto. I am perfectly comfortable singing along to things like Tracy Chapman songs.) "This fills my heart!" Pilar would exclaim periodically. "This is what we did all the time at home in Mexico! Carlos, you are amazing! And you—what is your name? Shasta! Shasta, yes, this is excellent!"

And that is the story of how I ended up singing "Your Song," "More Than Words," and "Cruisin'" at a Chevron in La Palma.