Here I am at the gate again. Murray has just left me here to fend for myself. Sometimes I like to imagine that we are living in a post apocalyptic world and the park is a sort of last hope safe haven. I am the gate keeper and only those who have paid their weight in precious scarce commodities may enter. “Give me all your salt”, I say. If they don’t have salt, I request gasoline, water or food. If they don’t have any of that, entry denied!
Just let a car full of girls through the gate. I saw them come through last night and recognized them this evening, yet for some reason I still checked to see if they were on the campers list. I said “Oh, you came through last night. Let me just see if you are still on the list”. The girl driving laughed a bit and the laughter slowly faded as she realized I was actually checking the list again. As they drove away, I saw her roll her eyes. Deservedly so I suppose. I should have charged them double salt for entry. Freeloaders!
The newspaper on the desk is around 3 weeks old. One of the headlines on the front page reads “Unhappy Campers”. How very fitting and coincidental.
I was doing a foot patrol on the beach by myself a few days ago. It was a scorcher so my forehead was sweating profusely, as usual, and hordes of beach goers were not really acknowledging me all too much. I guess they were too busy enjoying their fun in the sun. As I walked my lonely walk, along the edge of the grassed area just before it turns into course sand, I noticed a child around the age of 10 sitting backwards on a bench beside the beach. He looked like he was all alone, but he was smiling at me with great admiration. As I walked by, he reached out his hand, made a fist and held it toward me. I did the same, and we fist bumped. No words were spoken. None had to be. We had a mutual understanding of sorts. It was cool.