Monday, August 24th, 2020

The path from work to the mall is blocked. It was chained off during the lockdown, but that isn’t the problem now. The sports complex is open. I walk past people skating, playing soccer and basketball, and running through it as before. Close to the far edge of the park, a narrow stretch of pavement lies between some cryptic, humorous sculptures and the last unused bit of land. A white metal wall, taller than I am, now blocks the sidewalk, the sculptures, and that field. Through joints in the wall, I can see that construction has begun. I don’t know what they’re building. I follow the wall, straying far off my usual course. The metal wall ends at the edge of an ornate skatepark that I hadn’t seen before. Artfully shaped concrete guides people in kneepads and helmets along intricate dips, swerves, and jumps. It looks as if a block-wide mound of grey whipped cream atop an unseen sundae had melted then frozen again in place. Across from the skatepark, ankle-high walls of cement border six lanes, the size and shape of parking spots, hemming each in on both long sides and one short side. At the open edge of each, men and a few women, each my age or older, roll what look like stone balls into the lanes in games of something like bocce. I finally spot an exit sign. A open gate leads through a fence that runs along that side of the complex. I emerge far up the same street to which I was headed before the detour. I walk back along the road, following the tall white fence, then cross the street when I can and continue my voyage to the mall.