It's Tuesday. It's 10am. I'm in a funky four story walkup on the Lower East Side bordering Chinatown (best not to ask).
Out of nowhere there's the sound of a Chinese marching band blairing through the windows.
I walk outside. It's a funeral or some part thereof. I, along with whoever else happens to be Caucasion and walking by start snapping photos.
Hey, what the fuck? It's New York and I'm a glutton for all of it: "Their" tradition and "my" behavior in its midst.
Back inside now. The performance continues. The music's pretty damn good. Judging by those sounds, I bet he/she lived a good life.