Santiago, numero doce. (nerdboy)
Talk nerdy to me, his computer says.
Talk nerdy indeed.
A minute ago, he leaned forward and motioned for me to take off my headphones. I did.
He asked me, “are you Kahtee Hoof?”
It’s the accent. They all say it that way, so I’ve gotten used to answering to Kahtee. I even introduce myself as Kahtee these days, just to avoid confusion. Indeed, I expect them to say my name strangely when they have some reason to know it, particularly when I’ve introduced myself as Kahtee… but I’ve never introduced myself as Kahtee to this man.
I blushed in extraordinary embarrassment and confusion. Confusion, because I’ve never introduced myself to this man. No, he’s just a guy at starbucks.
“uh, um, uh, yeah,” I stuttered, forgetting everything I know about safety and giving information to strangers and the inverse correlation of the two.
Great. psycho hipster knows my name, but how did he guess? is it on my forehead?
He grinned at my blush, like a clever puppy, or a victorious psychopath, or… an awkward Chilean hipster.
“You have good moosic,” he finally pointed at his ibook screen.
Ah. Yes. The Internet. Of Course.
Anyway, good call nerdboy, in our now awkward silence, I can hear what parts of my music you’ve chosen, and I approve… yes indeed.