It sounded like music from the late 30s or early 1940s. It wasn’t Bing Crosby (I’d recognize that in a second), it was instrumental. It had a tinny sound to it, as if the music came from an old AM radio with a single speaker, an old radio.
That’s all it took. All at once, my street faded and I was sitting on a stoop somewhere in Brooklyn in the early 1940s. The music playing was coming from a radio perched up on a shelf in a candy store next door. The cars had mostly vanished from the street, and were replaced by people walking up and down the block. Some kids were playing in the street, and I could smell something, something like hot dogs and sauerkraut. It was wonderful.
It lasted only a fraction of a second, and then I was back on my stoop, with my beer and those tinny sounds coming from next door.
I love it when something like that happens.