When certain types of people are jacked up in certain ways, they publicly perform whatever song they’re listening to on their headphones.

Cut to the bus stop in the International District in front of King St. Station:

Performer – White male, black trench coat, greased back hair, 280 lbs, no front teeth.

Song – Tina Turner’s “Private Dancer”.

There was nothing private about this guy’s dancing. The lucidity, proximity, and volume in his headphones mentally transported him. His body may have been there, with the three people at that bus stop, but in his head, he was performing to a sold out Tokyo Dome.

It was Tina’s comeback tour, he was Tina, and he was on fire. He spun, whirling into poses and moves. His performance was daring and honest. He gave all of himself. He connected to everyone in that arena.

“I’m your private dancer, a dancer for money / I’ll do what you want me to do / I’m your private dancer, a dancer for money, any old music will do.”

What he really needed was a private nutritionist, someone to tell him to lay off the Twinkies. But the crowd loved him, and he knew they loved him. He was a natural. This was his calling – to be Tina Turner.

The crowd wanted more, but his bus came, and he was gone. No “Proud Mary” encore. He zoomed away. There was quiet. Morning sun slowly rose over the buildings downtown. A pigeon waddled by.

I witnessed a true great today.