The man with a torn and frayed fabric suitcase on wheels

It's approximately 8.30am.
A November Monday.
And being California, the sun is shining even if it is weak.
And, having just left a cafe called Renaissance, I'm standing on the corner of Shattuck and Essex avenues with a take away decaf soy latte for me in one hand and a regular latte for Sonya in the other
and I'm about the cross the street when a man, who is wearing a white fedora, a blue pin striped waistcoat, a white shirt, a blue tie, black trousers and spats and pulling a small torn and frayed fabric suitcase on wheels, stops at the pedestrian crossing and turns to me and squeals out - 'I really LOVE your hair,'
'Well,' I say, as I draw level with the man, 'I really LOVE your hat,'
'Hah,' he squeals back to me, letting go of the suitcase and raising his hands to slap his own cheeks, 'I really LOVE your accent,'
'Well,' I call back to him as I raise the 2 coffees slowly into the air, 'I really LOVE your whole look,'

'HAH' laughs the mans as he starts to cross the pedestrian crossing, 'Hah!'
And then, half way across the street, he turns and laughs and squeals at me to have a good day.
'And, HAH,' I call to him as I pass him, 'you too. You too.'