I met this man in the cafe today. He wasn't sideways or naked at the time, but you can tilt your head to the right and imagine him in a leather jacket to see him as I saw him. Smoking a pipe. Eating cake. Drinking coffee. Reading a Danish newspaper.
He will be a man imagining things Theremin tonight and tomorrow on a stage in the old Gdansk shipyards. I didn't ask his name. I never ask names, and I forget them when I'm told. But I remember the way he looked and sounded and the way he tapped his pipe out in the ash tray and how he ate his cake.