One street to please them all

I was in Shirlington Village for a children play. I am the only one in the audience without a kid in tow and regret not to have borrowed one for the occasion. The young kid seating on my right is a blond 2 or 3 years old. When I talk to her, the mother translates in a language that I do not recognize. "What language are you speaking?" I ask "Lithuanian" is the answer. I wonder how much of the play the kid will understand. It does not take long to find out. She is the only one to interact with the actors. She shouts and talks, question marks and orders in her voice. Her mom tries to calm her down to no avail. Even if her comments are uttered in a language I don't understand, I know that she is enjoying the play, that she is taken by it. Her mom is not so happy because her shouts are creating quite a reaction from the other kids. She explains in a low voice that one should not shout at the theater. The kid is silent after 10 minutes. I regret that people don't enjoy theaters this way anymore. Like jazz in a smoky pub, where one could clap and shout in a middle of a set to acknowledge a good solo. Even children plays are as stuffy as a classical concert. Restricted by dusty rules on how and when to express one's pleasure.

After the play, I go to get a coffee in one of the posh restaurants lining the only street alive in this neighborhood. Two blond women are speaking loudly right in front of me. One is describing a man as a "youngish guy". Her tone has a hint of disdain when the other woman interrupts and I hear only the reaction "Oh my god! You're dating him!!"
The tone changes immediately. She wants details and the other woman is reluctant to oblige. I hear "a couple of weeks" before they are asked by the waitress about their orders. They both get small lattes.