Wanna swim with the fishes, young lady?

We live near an Italian funeral home that has a lovely fish pond out in front. Sometimes, depending on the day, there are ornate silver hearses parked along the curb. Always, there are men in suits out in front. The suited men seem nice when we pass on our way to the subway every day even though evidence of a nod or smile is rare. Words are never exchanged, but they respect the passersby as we respect them.

This morning, I had a particularly forceful spring in my step. I set off down the street guided by my clacking boots that seemed to march faster than I could keep up. I rounded the corner in front of the funeral home while passing a woman with a stroller. Directly in front of her was a tall gentleman in a black suit and hat. I recognized him from the funeral home. He stopped and turned to face me.

MAN: I hear you're coming.
ME: (Stopping dead in my tracks.) Excuse me?
MAN: I hear you're coming! (He gestures to the entrance of the funeral home behind him.)
(Pause. Pause. Pause pause pause.)
ME: Yes. (Pause) What?
MAN: I HEAR YOU'RE COMING.
(MAN smiles, turns, and walks inside.)

Baffled, I continued my trek to the subway and thought, "Did he just say 'I hear you're coming or I heard you coming?" Surely he meant heard! Surely. I reached into my bag, pulled out my iPod, and set it to shuffle. The first song?

"Soon" by My Bloody Valentine.