The old man who as if coming out of a dump is wandering around the park again today, apparently has not take a bath in his life. He always wears shorts except in the freezing winter. Two puppies, tied together by strings of arm-length, diligently follow his backs.
He lives ten blocks from my house. He had a house that was falling apart and a wife or a girlfriend. One day the house was torn down and the woman left. He lives in a junkyard in a demolished house.
The vacated site has also been halved. He lost it to New York City because he couldn't pay his property tax. He lives on one side of the fence, and the other side is a vacant lot. He hangs everything he could hang on the fence. The table and chair that placed in front of the abandoned car use as a living room and kitchen.
After exercising in the morning, I can see him eating something hard round bread. The table is lined with fruits, bread, water, and spices. The marinade containers are can't tell what kind of containers because of the dust is from passing cars.
Pigeons pecking on leftovers always flutter at the table. After a meal, he sits in a rocking chair, basking in the sun and reading in the form of a poor philosopher. I wondered, is he going to take a bath? Where should he take a bath?
The YMCA in Greenpoint, Brooklyn swimming pool is as small as a bathhouse in Seoul. One day I was enjoying swimming alone in the pool quietly.
Isn't the old man is coming into the pool wearing the panties he always wore on the roadside. I was embarrassed. He didn't know how to swim. The poor swimmer was kicking the water hard with his feet and crawling. The water in the small pool splashed out and became a mess.
A life guide calmed him down. He asked the life guide to teach him how to swim. And he swam one form or another through the water, wriggling his hands and kicking his feet hard. Watching this scene, I couldn't go out or stay in the same water, so I stayed still at the corner of the swimming pool.
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