There is a man I know who spends time at my park. He is a nice man who says hello and smiles, though not big smiles as they appear to be more the of sort rooted in understood social obligations which humans tend to share for reasons I don't really understand or care to understand. Nonetheless he presents friendly better than the type of folk who I generally gravitate toward.

Today he is reading. He is sitting at a park bench and reading. He tends to do this rather frequently, and I must admit I don't understand quite why. He has a home. I've seen it. I've followed him to the place. It is a nice home, or at least it appears to be. It has a stoop where one could sit and read, and inside, though I've never been, I imagine it has many rooms perfectly suited for reading books.

One who reads so much should feel the fool for smiling idiotically at strangers as they pass by. I do not like this man, and I want him out of my park.

Still day after day he comes here, and I have to watch him read.

Across the asphalt path, not very far at all from the infuriating book reading man two different men whom I've never seen before are caught in the kind of dance I thoroughly enjoy.

A wallet is being liberated, procured, or stolen depending on one's point of view I suppose.

The book reading rube is clearly affected as the assault takes place before him. Why he doesn't stupidly grin is a mystery to me. Lessons are to be had from the man with a new wallet as he slowly unsheathes his blade from the suddenly cashless and increasingly bloodless man.

'You don't get nothing from them people you grin to,' I yell.

The reading man slinks away.

I have my park back and the book reading man now reads his books in his comfortable home.