One could go there for random images, vignettes from life, stories in the making. Faces tell stories, the way they wince, pucker up, smooth their hair. Some times the way they walk,crouch,and bend backwards.
Some times faces gather up the setting sun, when their wrinkles become deep trenches around their red mouths, full of expectation and reality.
You enter the park ,making clockwise oval movements on the walking track, one per minute.When you enter the park gate ,you always turn to the left. So does everybody else ,who walks. You therefore flow with the crowd. You can hardly recognize daily faces. Today I could see a new face, a young bespectacled face because it had entered the park gate and turned to the right. I saw it coming face to face.
Only one in a hundred turns to the right ,entering the park gate. A maverick?
