There was a man in the park the other day. He wore bright green pants and read a tiny but thick book as he walked, utterly oblivious to anyone else on the narrow path as he walked down the middle of it. He looked so peaceful that it was slightly cartoon-like — the (admittedly few) runners and walkers swerved to avoid him, while he walked absent-mindedly on, a point of equilibrium in the centre of the chaos he was creating.
He must have been in his seventies at least, mostly bald, and what little hair he had was gray. His nose and other features looked somewhat alien in the American landscape, perhaps he was Middle Eastern. (In any case, looking alien is quite normal in Southern California.) He wasn’t shabbily dressed, but his absent-minded air included his clothes. He wore a jacket over his shirt — the sun was out but there was a slight nip in the morning air — and a pair of oval-shaped glasses with a thin silver frame. After walking for a bit he sat on a bench and read.