Two stiff-collared businessmen just made my day.

While sitting in a St Kilda cafe, doodling in my diary like the consummate dweeb, one took pity on me and struck up a conversation.

You look deep in thought, he said.

Nah, just contemplating another bliss ball, said I.

Property developer, he said.

Copywriter, I returned.

We both had little clue what the other actually did, but found common ground in gardening, good health and seaweed fertilisers.

This high fallutin’ businessman, previously discussing a multi-million-dollar development with his portly sidekick, told me liked to grow chamomile and strawberries on his teensy city porch.

Just feels good, he said.

The other chimed in about people’s skewed priorities, how he sees ambitious youngsters chasing mansions and Mercedes all strung out on stimulants at the expense of what matters: community, connection, nature.

Woah, I thought. Either these guys had secret hippie-approved conversation cards hidden under the table...

...or they really did give a shit.

I reckon it’s the latter.

They reminded me that most of us, (all of us?), no matter how we earn our crust, no matter if we go for sourdough or wonderwhite, just want a good life. Just want to connect with others and try our best and feel happy in our bodies.

And the smallest green frond on a business mogul's balcony is a hopeful sign. We’re earth people, all of us.

Except maybe David Bowie who was sent from the stars.