From The Slice column on this date 20 years ago

It was about 6 a.m., and it was cold, dark and quiet.

Downtown was just waking up. A car here. Apartment lights flicking on there. Stuff you barely notice.

Then we heard it. Someone was singing. Singing loud.

You could tell it was a man. He’s plastered, we thought.

Maybe. But this guy a block away could halfway carry a tune.

The singer was on First. We were on Sprague. We were both walking east, at about the same pace.

And when cross-streets or spaces between buildings allowed, we could hear this man belting out a song. You know how sound carries when it’s cold.

Still, it wasn’t quite possible to make out the lyrics.

A time or two we even caught sight of him. But he was too far away for a positive assessment.

Probably drunk.

Then, near Monroe, we had to reconsider. Wasn’t that a Christmas carol he was singing? Sure, it sounded like — could it be? — “We Three Kings….”

We stopped and soaked in a Hallmark Moment.

We looked for the guy in the predawn darkness. There he was. Walking and singing in a big coat.

And then there came a line we could definitely make out.

“You’re my l-a-a-a-dy.”

So it wasn’t a carol.

We watched the singer cross Monroe and then walk out of view.

Probably drunk.