This poem came out of the odd experience of walking into Harvard Square from Harvard Yard, and over the traffic, I heard a tingling. The song was disjointed and stuttering, and sounded like the current Target commercial. As I got closer, I saw a one-man-band doing a Beatles song. Tourist stopped and then moved on, one after another. Sometimes, one would take a picture. This was all in front of a church that had a banner about divesting from fossil fuels facing Massachusetts Hall across the street. Mass Hall is the oldest extant building at Harvard, a dorm, and also the Office of the President.