I don't work outside the home, so there's no one I see every day. But when I walk Ista around the lunch hour in the winter, often there's a man maybe ten years older than me walking his three large, friendly dogs. If we walk close enough, we greet each other -- he has a pleasant deep voice -- or at a distance we wave. His eyes are just starting to crinkle when he smiles, which he does a lot, at his dogs and at me and my dog. He wears an old, battered khaki coat, but his trousers and shoes are always "nice," both dressy and polished (shoes) or ironed (trousers). His dogs are always immaculately groomed. His head is rarely few days past shaving even in the dead of winter. (His hair is thick and black, though, even darker than his dark skin, so I can see why he'd have to shave it often if he wanted to keep that look -- he couldn't cheat by a day or two the way a fair-skinned blond man could.) His stride is about as long and fast as mine is, so if we go opposite directions around the park loop to keep the dogs from going too nuts about trying to play with each other, we meet up again in exactly the middle.

I have no idea what he does for a living. I don't even know where in our neighborhood he lives, although with three dogs of that size, I expect it has to be a duplex or a house, because the apartments and townhouses would just be too small.

I feel safer when he is out walking his dogs at the same time as I am, and if I see him out, I'll go into the park, which I am otherwise avoiding right now. (One bad experience too many.)