I typically drive the same route to and from work. This route takes me past a park full of ball fields, a fire station and a church. There is seldom a time when I drive by that park that I DON’T see Fat-Hairy-Man.
Fat-Hairy-Man is pushing 60 years old. His hair is thinning. It has the appearance of once dark, but now gray in many spots. His arms and legs seem short compared to his body, but nothing freakishly circus-like. He has a beer belly. He has thick dark hair all over his legs, arms, chest, and back – and I know this because he NEVER WEARS A SHIRT OR LONG PANTS. NOT EVER.
This man appears to walk around this park 365 days a year. Sometimes, twice a day. Regardless of the season, he wears running shoes – no socks, black running shorts – way too short if you ask me…and that is it. He doesn’t even carry a shirt. He is steps away from completely naked.
I make a point of looking for Fat-Hairy-Man when I drive by, mostly to make fun of him silently in my mind. Apparently I live for that kind of comic relief. I wonder why he doesn’t get laser hair removal or at least shave his neck. I imagine that his feet are molding in those shoes with no socks. I wonder if he is homeless and has no clothes. I cannot fathom how he is out in the dead of winter with nothing to protect his hairy self from the cold and wind and rain. I am stumped as to how he avoids a sunburn.
Today I ran around the park that Fat-Hairy-Man frequents. It was long. And hard. And I have to admit that I now have a tiny bit of respect for that strange hairy man.