January 11, 2024:
I come up behind the lady.
I'm lanky, six and a half feet, my stride is long and I'm walking fast for exercise. She's middle-aged, dressed in Goth black, pausing to smile at butterflies and squirrels.
I hate the idea that I might startle or frighten someone, particularly a woman alone in a near-empty park. Here, now, in my momentary role as random dude approaching rapidly from behind.
I softly call out, "On your left." When I reach her I say, "hey", smiling, doing my best to appear nonthreatening. She stops, says "hello" in a voice as soft as a child's; and when I pass her I hear her footsteps on the sidewalk speed up, as though she had slowed deliberately to let me pass.