They talk as if we don't understand them, here in the park.
Even the drunk and homeless, come to listen, come to watch, the drunk pausing in their drinking, the homeless patiently feeding them with what little food they have.
And I, the unemployed, sit listening, trying to discern what they are saying, in the middle of the day.
I watch as the Korean man shares the remains of his lunch off his plate, breaking all foods down into bird-sized bites, then throws his plate away.
The ducks are the first to approach him, then the pigeons, then the seagulls. The loons and the wood ducks never leave the water, but come investigate when all the rest have left, following him to the trash can.
But even so, only some speak. They are different species, with different languages, and they carry on their discussions without fear of being understood.
Just like the Korean, Spanish and English speaking folk in the park do too. Separate, mingling, but not understanding.
