Olive Sprouts

I went to the thrift store to look at books and old National Geographics. The National Geographics are 30 cents each, so I like to get a few that look interesting. The following is as accurate as possible considering my memory.
I was kneeling down, since they are on the bottom two shelves, and I had just decided to get February 1976: U.S.S.R., Ob River, Apollo-Soyuz, Sargassum, Minnesota, Jefferson, Azores, and was flipping through an article on Tolstoy in June 1986: Immune System, Tea & Sugar Train, Tolstoy, Snow Leopard, Bikini , when a sharply dressed foreign man knelt beside me and began looking at them too. After he had scanned the rows in front of him, he went to the other side of me and looked. The only place left was in front of me. He politely said,
-- "Excuse me..."
(I nod and move over)
--"I'm looking for a specific one," he explains, "from 1980."
We continue looking, he for the 1980 he wants, me, well, for anything dealing with Russia/U.S.S.R. or anything else that catches my eye. His hand darts out and he pulls one from the bright yellow stack.
--"This is it!" He says happily, looking at me.
--"Great!" I say
--"It has a picture of one of my friends," he says
--"Wow!" I raise my eyebrows and nod. It is not everyone who is in National Geographic.
--"Yes", he says, looking through it, smiling. "A picture of where I was from. Here, let me show you the picture."
I'm slightly taken aback by this, but I wait while he flips swiftly through the bright pages.
"Here it is!" he exclaims happily! He shows me.
I see a picture of three Hispanic males standing in a row near a white car with thick blue and red pinstripes. They stand there comfortably, I have a vague recollection of drinks in their hands, in wifebeater shirts.
"Do you see the car?" he continues, "Can you believe that my friend did that himself with spraypaint?"
I am genuinely surprised. "Really? Neat!"
"Yes!" He continues, telling me about the car. I have never had an intense interest in old cars, however, as he shows me the stripes on the car done with spray paint, I become mildly interested. He tells me that his friend had sold the car and then regretted it because he had the car before he got married and he and his wife had many memories involving said car. Then I listen as he tells me what year the car was made in, and the fact that this car from this particular year has a different fender-thingee. (not his words, mine.) He goes on to tell me about visiting a friend and going down to the local mechanic and seeing a car just like this, only without this paint job. He can tell it is the same year as his friend's was. He walks over and knows its the same.
"Now," he tells me, "Can you see anything on this car that you could tell it was this car even if it was repainted?"
I shake my head. He points triumphantly to the windows.
"He had roses etched on the windows!"
I'm speechless for a moment. This is most interesting. Roses on the windows, hmm?
"Oh!" I look closer. "Yes, I see them!" I stifle a giggle. This is just plain strange. People don't just start talking to utter strangers...do they? I know I don't usually.