Afternoon walk

I walked to Highgate Cemetery, passing through Hampstead Heath. On Parliament Hill, the white-haired, broad-shouldered man in front of me made as if to kick his female companion. But, just as his foot neared her rear (he didn't have to aim that carefully), he started toppling over and instead did an impromptu, one-legged dance as if he were on hot coals. A few moments later, an old lady passed me. Misinterpreting the cause of my smile, she smiled back. And suddenly I felt as if I were indeed smiling because I was kind-hearted and not because the man looked foolish.

I then passed an Indian guy, in his twenties, who was loudly talking on his mobile. He shouted, "What the f-ck! He gets a mortgage!" He pronounced mortgage, mort-gage. When foreigners swear in a language other than their own, it always sounds self-consciously deliberate; it's the verbal equivalent to someone wearing hiking boots with evening wear. He exacerbated this effect by immediately glancing around, smiling shyly, the phone still to his ear. It seemed like he was looking for approbation...whether for his cursing or his knowledge of mortgages, I don't know.