It was a busy week, and it had taken Mr. Fuzzles a lot of time to finish up the year at Cat School. From kitty report cards to marking pet exams, the way that the end of the year was organized at his Cat School was terrible. He had finished late more than once a week, finalizing everything. He had barely had any time at all to get high on some catnip or play with Tigger. He had already one end of year feast planned for the following week. Unlike this one, he knew that his other kitten school would pay for everything. It was a kind of local tradition. They weren’t dogs, they were civilized. It was what was expected.
There’s the girl who puts the treadmill stubbornly at 10kph but can only manage to run at that pace for less than 30 seconds. Then, she holds onto the rails of the treadmill for 30 seconds, stomping away, until she runs again for another 30 seconds.
There are the girls who put shirts or jackets over their belly and crotch areas to hide.
There’s the girl who was wearing gloves to run.
There are the people who go to the gym and use the treadmill to walk.
There’s the smoker who runs for a long time who ends up next to me half of the time. As soon as he starts running, it starts smelling like ashes.
There are the people who do splits and stretching, men and women alike.
It’s a little past midnight, and a man gets out of a courtyard. He’s got a dog in tow and he’s walking quickly towards a nearby park. The dog follows his master obediently on the leash. It’s a French bulldog, all muscle and all clown. The owner is pulling the dogs along. He sees a bunch of stray dogs nearby, strangely clustered around a large container. The man doesn’t think too much about it and hurries onward.
Hello, he says. Hello I reply while shaking his gnarled hand.
He looks like my grandfather. Where are your from he asks. I’m from Canada I reply. I tell him that I’m mixed up. I was born in Germany, lived in France, spent the rest of the time in Quebec, Canada. Really, he asks. I’m mixed up too!
What are you doing here? I’m studying, writing, teaching, I reply. I sit down next to him and he asks me where my parents are from. I say that they come from Kerala.
When I heard this, I was amazed. I couldn’t understand how a 21-year old was the manager of a successful firm and that I was his employee.
The most important thing that I discovered about him was that he was a pathological liar. He couldn’t help himself. He would lie about the simplest things and not acknowledge when he was clearly wrong.
I was walking with S, Dr. G, and the wife towards a restaurant in the Shida ghetto. We came across two strange ladies who were chanting They were seated close to each other and kept repeating the same thing over and over again. I didn’t see any Buddhist prayer beads or tokens of faith, nevertheless, my mind initially thought that they were Buddhists.
I looked over at S, my eyes full of questions. Christians, she said. Christians? Yes, Christians, she said once again. They are saying the name of the saviour over and over again. Jesus? Yes, Jesus, she said. I said that I thought they were Buddhists. No, they are Christians she said and we continued our walk.
I was wondering why there was a crib there, I said. She answered that when she comes with her baby, she needs a crib. That makes sense, I said. She said that her husband was working in a bank five years ago and didn’t like the repetitve routine. That’s why they opened a bike shop. She said that the shop had a race this Saturday in Chiayi (嘉義市), that’s why the boys were prepping their bikes. I said that the bikes looked expensive. She agreed.
They were all servicing Time top of the line VRS Vibraser bikes. There was a strange intense energy in the shop that day. It contrasted with Diane, who was holding her infant daughter Mei-Mei and talking to me. She told me that I should join them for rides. I said that I would do so when I had my own road bike.