forced our bodies away from the crowd, inched closer toward the tour bus. “It’s no use,” Dali said. But I didn’t the sea of red-bottom shoes and Timberland boots, and finally, diamond encrusted Air Force 1s. “He’s coming this way. Shak, connect the speaker! Pull up the track!” I yelled. And so began Mrs. Doubtfire with the questions. “Right here? Right now? On the street?” I snatched my phone from her, clicked play, do what it do. Dali came in with that soprano note, high enough to crack a hole in the sky.