In Sevenoaks Park that was full of small boys playing football, on a decently sun-lit day in Grangetown, I gave way to a warmly wrapped black woman. She rode an electrically-powered wheelchair and was accompanied by a lively dog, who* had a sniff at me. Her body was badly disfigured: the torso was disproportionately inflated, her legs seemed, for most part, missing and her head was awkwardly turned - propably not for reasons religious - heavenward. She gave me a look that I couldn't decipher and I gave her one of my stupid** smiles. When I was five steps into trying to feel sorry for her, I cut it short. "Woman", I sent her a farewell glance and a welcome thought, "you've seen this park, these kids (and you've seen me, too) - you've seen this day. Well, there is no bloody excuse left for you now***"
*sic
** but, then, who knows?
***not that I had any bloody idea if she was looking for one. Maybe she believed and had found a love supreme.
