Late one morning in 20 1 2,headed for lunch in San Francisco,I drove towards one of the toll booths .I heard loud music.It sounded like a party,or a Michael Jackson concert.I looked around.No other cars with their windows open.I looked at the toll booth.Inside it,a young man was dancing. "What are you doing?"I asked. "I'm having a party,"he said. "What about the rest of the people?"I looked over at other booths:nothing moving there. "They're not invited." I had a dozen other questions for him,but somebody in a big hurry to get somewhere started punching his horn   behind me and I drove off.But I made a note to myself'.Find this guy again.There's something in his eyes that says there's magic in his toll booth. Months later I did find him again,still with the loud music,still having a party. Again I asked."What are you doing?" He said."I remember you from the last time.I'm still dancing.I'm having the same party." I said."Look.What about the rest of the people" He said."Stop.Do you see other people there?"He pointed down the row of toll booths."Everyday, they just get in the booths,stay for eight hours,do the same motions.Brain is on hold,dead on the job.But I am enjoying my life and I'm going to be a dancer someday." Sixteen people are dead on the j ob,and the seventeenth,in nearly the same situation,finds out another way to live.He and I did have lunch later, and he said. "I don't understand why anybody would think my job is boring.I have a comer office,glass on all sides.I can see the Golden Gate,San Francisco.the Berkeley hills.Half of the western people have vacations here while I can stay here every day and practise dancing for the future success.'' The writer heard music from   _  .
his own car other cars a concert a toll booth