He hopped off the train at Davis, singing "Three Little Birds" and playing rhythm on the detritus of our plastic-addicted society. "Is that song by Bob Marley?" a man asked him. He replied in a rich Jamaican accent, "Mon, I am Bob Marley." I gave him a dollar and a peach. The money was pro forma; the peach was to reciprocate the sweetness he brought to my day.