Excerpt from "A Fedora in New York"

This is just an excerpt from a short story I'm working on... I'm up to the dialogue part, but I don't know how to finish it... critiques would be great, thanks :)

It was another typical Saturday morning, Mom and Dad were out, and I was home alone. I had nothing to do, so I decided to go out to the park. I showered, dressed in my peach t-shirt with my boho-designed beige cardigan along with sheer black tights, a pair of denim shorts, and fawn boots. I put my tousled hair up sloppily in a loose bun held with weak bobby pins and brought my acoustic guitar with me, the one with the henna design on the front. As I walked out the door of my apartment building, I was greeted by clouds covering the sun. I continued to walk down the block over to the park near home. Another nice day at the park I thought. I enjoyed going to the park, people running, riding their bikes, walking their dogs, and children playing. I enjoyed the simplicity of daily human life, and the best way to observe it is by coming to this place. I took out my guitar and my leather tree journal and began to sing one of my poems I wrote. Improv is my style; I write words and create music as I speak them fancily while being accompanied by music. As I played my song, the people still roamed around carrying about their business while others watched. As I sang each line, I quickly thought of chords to go along with the words. “An unexpected encounter led to a new world of love for the two of them.” I sang as a played all of the right seventh chords. I kept on playing, trying new rhythms and occasional arpeggios, and after a few songs and applauds, I took a break to write in my journal. The people, I noticed, the people are just being people, the people of the city are running around, the people of the country are walking, and I’m just sitting. After a few moments of thought and written word, I got up and stretched for a bit then as I went to sit down, a man with curly black hair neatly placed in a fedora sat down playing a harmonica. The man was playing some soulful melody while stomping his foot. He had to be in his late twenties or early thirties; he wore rugged jeans, black shoes, and a leather jacket. He looked like your average jazz musician; he even had an earring in his right ear. I enjoyed his song so I joined in with my guitar as we both invented a sound you’d hear in underground jazz clubs. I felt like we were connected through our music, it was like we had some sort of telepathic connection as if we knew what notes to play, how the rhythm went, the tone, everything was flowing so smoothly. After we finished, he smiled at me and moved closer to me. “Hello,” the man said. I smiled back and in a moment of social anxiety I smiled softly and mumbled “hello” right back. “Today is a nice day, even though the sunshine isn’t with us… I like the clouds.” He said in his low pitched voice.