Spelling counts

It's cold for May, and I'm willing myself up a hill.

Well, it's hardly a hill, just one of those barely perceptible inclines that make you wonder why on earth you're feeling tired.  My steps feel somewhat off-balance, and I tighten one strap of my packsack to redress the balance.

Halfway up, I spot a man in a dark green hoodie, standing in the sidewalk, head bent over his phone.  I note the baseball cap under the hood, but can't make out his face.  I feel a slight whisper of anxiety, and bend my path around him, giving him a wide berth.

"Excuse me," I hear him say as I pass, and I keep going, thinking that perhaps he's apologising for taking up the sidewalk.  This is Canada, after all.

"Excuse me," he repeats.  I stop and return.

"Just a random question.  How do you spell 'guitar'?"

I feel myself smiling.  "G-U-I-T-A-R."

He raises his phone.  "And there it is; it came right up!"

I giggle, and turn to continue.

"Thanks!" I hear him call.  

I revolve in the also barely perceptible rain.  "It's not often I can solve a problem so simply!"

"You have a great day," he says.

I head home, feeling less burdened and footsore.

We've both turned into human beings.