Tuesday the Thirteenth

A couple of things:
1. Someone mentioned that I should get a better photo of Max's goatee up here. So I oblige.
2. I've tried for a long time to resist writing about this because it feels kind of mean, but today I decided to give in. There is this guy who I see on almost a daily basis. I've never seen him walking, sitting, standing, talking or dancing. He is always, always running. Seriously. 9 out of every 10 times I take Max outside for a walk up the lake, this man is running, back and forth along the strip of sidewalk that connects Chicago to Evanston. The thing is, working from home, I take Max out at completely random times, whenever I find a good place to break. Before or after I eat something, before or after I shower, whatever. But this guy is out there running almost every time I randomly walk Max. 2 o'clock, 11 o'clock, 4 o'clock. I'm not great with ratios and probabilities, but the odds just aren't there to make it likely that he happens to step out to run 9 out of the 10 times I happen to step out with max. Thus, I am led to believe that the man constantly runs. Or at the very least, he runs 4-5 hours a day. And that's not all. On all occasions, even in freezing snowy weather, he is in shorts and sometimes topless, bare chest to the icy wind. Today, one of the first days all year warm enough for me to wear flip-flops, running man, still in shorts, wore a wool hat and thick gloves. See, just writing this makes it sound as if there is no question that he is ill, but if I really thought that were true I wouldn't blog about him. I'm blogging about him because I can't make him out. I really think I'm going to sit outside and start taking field notes on him. Besides the odd running habits, the guy seems friendly, polite, (fit). He kindly moves for bikes and maneuvers around walkers. He smiles at dogs. Because he runs back and forth between the corner of my block and the corner of Evanston, he laps me many times. He usually nods hello once and then keeps to himself the rest of the time. What is happening here? It's awful because I've come to giggle when he passes by. Ah well. For all I know, he's home right now blogging about the girl who is constantly out walking that labradoodle with a goatee, who giggles for no reason, and carries dog poop around in a plastic bag.
As my dad would say, we're all bozos on this bus.