Its lunch time and I am sitting in the park eating my two .50 cent hotdogs from Fat Albert’s. Amazingly, these beautiful surroundings seem to be ignored for the most part by the local population and townsfolk. I feel as if I have garnered a new family; the regulars that have the good fortune of enjoying the surroundings much as me; the few that there are. We all respect each others boundaries and see each other everyday. We keep a comfortable distance.
One middle aged lady shows up around lunch time to walk laps around the perimeter of the park around noon. She is amazingly fit for what I believe to be her age. I admire her undaunted determination with which she so dutifully does her best to exercise everyday. I sometimes daydream about being seduced by such an older and attractive women twice my age. Various sexual fantasies vividly fill my mind as it wanders over the banal preponderances of AM talk radio emitting from my headphones.
A group of what I believe to be migrant Mexican farm workers shows up everyday to subsistence fish. They are a jovial bunch laughing and talking in that language I cannot understand. I watch intently as they clean their fish and proceed to grill them over hot coals on the grills the park provides. They look as if they live in abject poverty, but seem so happy and fulfilled. It reinforces home the fact I have learned over the years that money can’t buy you happiness.
The park ranger whom I have deemed Deputy Fife makes his rounds on the hour. He never fails everyday to accost the Mexicans and check their fishing licenses. He is a nervous, jittery fellow adorned in a light green shirt with a badge and khaki pants. His mode of transportation is a golf cart which always makes me smile as he tools around the park with an air of importance in such a laughable vehicle. I imagine he was once a police officer and had to retire to the relative obscurity of a park ranger due to stress and his nervous disposition.
Thunder rolls loudly on the horizon suddenly. The Mexicans spring into action and pack up all their fishing and cooking gear. What seems like twenty of them pile into one vehicle and drive off. The lady walking the perimeter park has long since left. I am left alone with my thoughts and my surroundings. My only companion is the voice of the daytime AM radio show hosts ranting endlessly on my radio about the war on terrorism and those evil Muslims; fervently trying to whip their listeners into frenzy over nonexistent threats. It astonishes me that citizens would turn to these talking heads to generate their view on the world and politics. I listen in with morbid fascination.
The thunder grows ever louder and the first heavy rain drops start to fall. It chases me to the sheltered confines of my car. I close the door and sit quietly as the rain picks up in intensity. I smile and feel so tranquil and content. For once, my life seems to have such a profound meaning. I am at one with the world and my surroundings. I open my laptop and proceed to capture today’s lunchtime moment in the park with zeal.
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