I just want my rug back, man.

I walk down to the park around 2.30ish. It's hot. It's too hot to work out and I'm still a little tired from the work week and from staying up until 1am and I don't often slough off, so I've got my little satchel slung over my shoulder containing a book, my phone, keys and a blanket. I'm listening to Moby and Sarah Harmer and Norah Jones and Van Morrison and I decide to go to a different park than where I usually go. This one is more lush with a winding concrete path through it and beautiful landscaping. It's typically a little busier though. No matter. No matter.
I find a nice place to spread my blanket and kick off my shoes and sprawl my legs out, pulling my book out of the bag, stripping off my Shuffle and I notice the chord on my bag is pulling out of the bag so I try and double, triple, quadruple knot it so the new knot can't fit through the widening, fraying hole.
I look up and notice a shirtless guy walking in my direction. I flip open my book and start to read. I hear him say something about yoga and I assume he is talking on the phone and I wait for him to pass by.
He does not pass by. He makes comments, attempts converse with me about yoga and tai chi and I don't know if it's because I'm overtired or if it's the heat or the two Ibuprofen I've had today but I don't understand what he's trying to say. I tell him I'm just wanting to read my book and hang out.
He is slightly taller than me, with one or possibly two parents of Asian descent. His body is slight and not wiry, in fact it's somehow saggy as though he has absolutely no muscle tone. He has a shaved head and is wearing baggy blue jeans with a belt and, in retrospect, may or may not have had a tattoo on his arm. He is somewhere in his mid to late twenties.
And then he sits, cross legged, in front of me and tells me he teaches yoga and have I seen his DVD? I reply that I have not. He is more insistent: it had a purple cover? He was on the front of it? I decline again. He mentions something about having cut all his hair off.
Now he is up again and is trying to justify his presence by saying that he's waiting for some friends and they're going to have a barbeque. I find myself trying to remember what time of day it is. Is it time for a barbeque? He tells me that they had called the fire department and were advised against having any fires because it's so dry and I'm wondering if there are barbeque pits in this park and I don't think there are, and you certainly cannot have an open fire in the park so not all of this is adding up.
He asks me if I am here to do tai chi or yoga. I pause a moment, hoping he can more clearly see the large book I am reading, the way I am reposed (but now leaning forward, hunched, somewhat taut). I tell him I'm just here to chill out and read my book. I pointedly look at my book.
He asks if his presence is making me uncomfortable because he has just randomly come over to talk to me and who the hell is he, right: I have no idea who he is. I agree with him that yes, he is making me uncomfortable.
He advises me that people in Canada aren't very friendly. He's not from here. Did he mention that he's new here? In the States people are all like hey, how's it going, especially in the clubs. You can just go over to people and buy them a drink and sit and chat with them, but here people aren't as receptive and they want to be all left alone and whatnot.
I don't say anything.
He tells me that last night he was at this club - he was there with his buddies and they all got pissed (in fact, he's still drunk) - and there was this girl and she was just amazingly beautiful. She knew how beautiful she was and it was like he could see right into her, right into her soul and she wanted to be with him -
I get up, put my shuffle, phone and book into my bag. He looks only slightly surprised.
As I grab the edge of my blue and yellow plaid blanket and give it a perfunctory shake to knock off the tenacious strands of dried grass he offers to help me fold my blanket.
I say no thanks, and don't take the time to even put it into my bag and instead lob it over my arm as I turn on my heel and walk strongly away from him, not looking back.
After I cross Lonsdale and am halfway down the path into another park I feel the surge of adrenaline peak and crest inside me and I feel like I can run for miles. I think that my hands are shaking.

* * *

Sometimes the ideas of things, the occasional chaoses, the hints of theories and intimations of philosophies send me careening, unfettered in different directions.