It was a crisp weekday morning. I walked through the park and counted a couple more additions to the local homeless encampment.
The geese and ducks were about. I saw something that looked like a football on a grassy field. I strolled over to examine. Indeed, it was a football, a youth one, in excellent condition. I picked it up and it acted like the madeleine in Proust’s In Search of Lost Time. Football flooded my mind and it would have been nice to have someone with me at that moment to wing the pigskin around.
I flung it in the air like I was throwing a long bomb. The football spiraled nicely. I caught it, cradled it under my arm like a running back, and continued along my way.
A City employee was taking photographs of an abandoned and stripped sedan. I walked up and we struck up a conversation about the vehicle and its likelihood of it being towed. He said it would happen pretty soon. He also told me his job was to investigate abandoned vehicles around the city and facilitate their removal. It struck me as an interesting job and one I wouldn’t mind doing myself.
Our conversation ended and I continued my walk.
A few minutes later I came upon a street library. I never fail to inspect the contents of these libraries on my walks, so I opened it up and beheld a novel I had longed to read: The Name of the Rose by Umberto Eco. I’d seen and loved the movie but never got around to obtaining the book. Well, here it was and just in time for the rainy season and long hours of reading.
I cradled the novel under my right arm and the football under my left and walked home in a very good mood.