Can't ya hear them singin'?

 I like Sam Cooke as much as the next person.

The trouble is, the next person happens to be a pink lady with a decent enough singing voice, but only a vague grasp of the lyrics.  I'm not even sure she's aware that she's singing along -- well, not so much along, as in sudden jolts, ambushing me with snatches of song.

She came trundling into the coffee shop with a small suitcase on wheels, clad in pastel pink.  Her hair is drawn up into a fluffy pony tail on the top of her head, it's grey, but I'm pretty sure she was a blonde.  She has a blonde vibe.  In a girlish voice, she calls to the barista for the WiFi code, as she sets up her phone and laptop.  I guess she's going to be here for a while.

And the playlist is Sam Cooke's greatest hits -- which she almost knows.  She knows one line of "Wonderful World":  "Don't know much about biology...", and sings it to each verse.  She also knows bits and pieces of "Cupid",  "Another Saturday Night", and "Twisting the Night Away".

Then we're into "Chain Gang".  Pink Lady thinks the back-up singers are chanting "Work!  Work!"

I look down at my own work, and lament the fact that I left the house without my earbuds.  

After a while, I notice she's not singing along, and venture a quick glance to my right.  She's wearing her earbuds.  Small mercies.

Rest in peace, Sam.