We spent the better part of a decade stealing glances but never making each other’s acquaintance. The lake has a three-kilometer walkway ar...
We spent the better part of a decade stealing glances but never making each other’s acquaintance. The lake has a three-kilometer walkway around it. The man I’m telling you about always went clockwise and I, anti-clockwise, so that each morning at about seven-thirty we passed each other.
Most often our eyes would meet briefly, and then for some reason both of us would hurry away, sharing a kind of intimacy that time hands down, but separated yet by the lack of an introduction. With each passing day such an introduction seemed more awkward and impossible.
Call me daft or call me dandy, but I judge people by what they wear. Solitary walks can be monotonous, so the judging became a hobby. Twenty-somethings with fitness bands and expensive shoes I judged to be young IT employees, still exploring the possibilities with a salary. This walk or jog was a passing fancy; in a month those shoes would start to gather dust.
People in their thirties, dressed in decent but optimally priced sportswear, with their smartphones set at time-distance-calorie counts: newly diagnosed with sugar, pressure or cholesterol, they were there because they cared about themselves. They had everything going for them, and couldn’t lose it all...
