The unexpected

I am a creature of habit. I have a routine. I'm generally not spontaneous and don't like surprises. I feel this life style allows me to have control and predict life, avoiding unpleasant situations.
That said, a surprise now and then is healthy. Evolutionarily species that can adapt are more likely to survive. The unusual also makes one think outside the box. A property of modern art that I've come to appreciate in recent years.
So with that in mind let's imagine the Ithaca Commons on a Saturday evening. A surprise is near certain.
Here I am, sitting outside Madeline's with three friends enjoying a Cappuccino Martini and Tiramisu. Tiramisu always makes me think of Germany, but that's routine. Looking over our shoulder's we see a guy with a small table pleasantly lit with a shaded table lamp, two boxes of pizza and a cooler with Californian lime juice. Now a couple guys with pizza may not be so surprising. Maybe they're just trying real people in and save them with the Good Book. But it's really the table lamp that makes this whole operation a surprise. That lamp exists way outside of the box. We discussed what they're motivation is. What do they want. I commented that it is depressing, that we are suspicious of possible random acts of kindness.
After we finished, we ventured over. They in fact just wanted to brighten some people's night. That's right. This is Ithaca. 10 square miles surrounded by reality. Tonight it's true.
Next I walked by a guy talking to someone invisible while playing with his ferret.
Don't forget to stop and look around at the roses.

Something else along these lines. I was reading the text to a song by my favorite German band. This is for my German-speaking friends.
Das Lied heisst "Stiller" von Wir sind Helden.
Schau mal den Text an:

http://www.wirsindhelden.com/txt_soundso11.php?lang=en

Hier ist meine Übersetzung, aber ich bin mich nicht sicher mit einigen Sätze. Was meint ihr? Würdet ihr etwas anders schreiben?

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Daily I dictate my life to myself
by stops on the subway schedule
from above without grounding
without keeping quiet
disquiet, never helpless
never speechless
the words don't come to me

I try to explain the world to myself
as though there were lines between the points
as though the words divide the world into stripes
I grab, but I can't understand

What good are my hands
when what they touch disappears
just like the things that, when the words find them, disappear
fall silent and unwind

I am not silent
the words just don't come to me
I am not silent
the words just don't hit their target
I am not silent
I would love to keep quiet
and silent, more silent
just show everything and be silent
silent and dazzling

I try to explain myself to the world
as thought there were lines between the sparks
as though the words could only graze
to what I reach and I can not understand

What good do these nice thoughts do
that are bogged down by all the others
because the heart of all thoughts is made out of lead
because everything they find is gone