He entered the park’s inner precinct surrounding the dry fountain basin from the far side. Something about his loose limbed casualness caught my eye and interest. He wore jeans and a short sleeve button up grey shirt and was carrying a light jacket and a pair of doughty looking hard cover books. 

  Stopping in front of a duo of young gals enjoying the hot summer afternoon he spoke a few words, seemed to present the two books, and after the gals both shook their heads he casually moved on. 

  He found a bench, sat down and stretching out his arms full length threw his head back. Then he was up again and leaving the books neatly arranged on his folded jacket walked off between two rows of the bordering hedge. 

  From where I sat I could see him doing a sort of stretching Tai Chi balancing dance on the grass beyond the hedge and after a while he returned barefoot and carrying his shoes. 

  I went back to reading my book and some time later he was standing before me saying something about being hard up stone broke and offering his two books for sale to raise a little cash. 

  He had a sort of hollowed out distracted handsomeness about him but spoke with a clear natural eloquence. 

  “I steal them from the big corporations that control everything and sell them to raise a little pin money,” he explained. “We need to work together to break their monopoly and smash the system that allows them to do what they do.” 

  “It’s tough going these days,” I granted. 

  “I sort of fell on hard times, you know,” he was saying, “and after fighting it out with my landlord over rising rent and all I find myself out on the street.”

  I didn’t catch the title of the books but told him thanks but I wasn’t interested, however I did fish into a pocket and come up with a three dollar donation to the cause. 

  He said everything, including his guitars, were in hock at this point. 

  “You play?” I asked. “Been in any bands around town?”

  “My last band was really good, man. We played everywhere. But it’s a tough business and really hard to make any money. Especially since Covid.”

  “Yes,” I commiserated, “and these days you’re not only competing with other bands around town for the ears of listeners you’re competing with every band who ever put out an album. Look at these people,” I went on, gesturing to nearby people many with headphones or earbuds adorning their heads, “what are they listening to, the Beatles, the Eagles, Led Zeppelin? That’s tough competition!”

  “Well,” he said, holding out a fist for me to pump, “I best be moving along.”

  “Best of luck,” I said. “Nice chatting with you. My name is Jeff.” 

  “Miles,” he said. “Mine’s Miles.”

  “See you around, Miles.”