I saw an unforgettable thing today. Like everyday.

This time I was out at Santa Monica Pier. I'm talking about the site of the original muscle beach. This is where it all began. Now there are no weights to be seen. I can't imagine what happened to all of that style pumping iron gear that I've seen in films of the place. Maybe they moved it down to Venice. What's left is a loose, free-style workout area. It's just south of the chess tables set out along the strand. I find myself going there quite often this year. It's especially nice to hit the beach on a hot day like today. It seems like everyone has the same idea.

The core of the workout area is a raised lawn, with a foot tall retaining wall bordering it. And you can sit on the short wall, and watch all the immodest people working out. Some do yoga or sun salutations. There are many gymnasts. Some guys and gals were tumbling there this afternoon. They can draw a crowd. On another occasion at this spot, I watched three wiry Mexican guys wrestling at turns. They were rough. Their shirts were off and their hair was tousled. They'd pant between bouts, bent over; or striding around. You could see scratches and hot red welts on their shirtless upper bodies.

The boardwalk by the pier is a place in which everything is normal. It's one of the few non-commercial, auto-free public spaces in L.A. And there is a lot to see. You get the impression that people are hungry to be seen and see like that.

I went to the pier to work out on the rings and parallel bars this afternoon. I brought my jump-rope along as well, and a towel; should I feel like taking a dip in the ocean. This has become my favorite way to spend a day. Alone. I can take a book. Socializing is as natural as you could want. Or I can just hang out and think about something.

I was walking around rolling my shoulders and warming up, when a guy comes near, and starts his own regimen next to me. He's a really big strong black guy. I imeadiately took him to be an African. Some intangible quality of this guy had me convinced he was not from North America. He seemed to have a well-developed, oft-repeated style of breaking himself down in stretches. He would shadow box some, and then back on the ground, pulling his legs across his chest. I was into my rythymn by then, skipping rope. I'd look around to take in some of the sites, or smile at a passerby. But mostly I just zoned out on the horizon. This afternoon had the strangest sky. It was perfectly still, and on the beach and its ajacent alleys and shops, we were surrounded by fog. The sun shone where all of us milled around. But we couldn't see past the point at which the waves were breaking. The Santa Monica Pier was shrouded in afternoon fog, but I could still catch glimpses of its rollercoaster rattling around. And the accompanying screams of the enthralled passengers.

And then occurred this event.

The African-looking guy then bent over to his hands and feet, and began to slowky walk a four-legged circuit around muscle beach. He placed his palms flat, and his ass - which was ample - stuck straight in the air. The man was big. He was built like he could play professional soccer in Europe or such. From watching him workout, I'd figured he was an athlete, or maybe an ex-military type. But this walk he was doing was so weird. I couldn't take my eyes off of him. Others hanging around the edge of the sand backed away when they noticed him coming their way. He was doing something that did not exactly fit in where we were. It was noticed.

All the rest of us were standing up straight. And this guy suddenly starts doing what used to be the way.

The most obvious thing was how natural it was. This big, strapping black dude was slowly, like a lazy cat, walking around the boardwalk on all fours. His legs looked amazing. The guy was fucking strong. He had a big head and would let it loll relaxedly on his shoulders, from side to side, only occasionaly looking up. And he walked around and took in the ground, like an animal looking for food. I've never seen a person do anything like this before. It was great, expressly because it crossed a line. It was animal theatre.

It all happened like that. He did one course around the workout area. I was as if he was completing his solo workout. He was warming himself down. In that public space on the edge of the ocean. Remembering something. Hypnotizing himself. It gave me a shot of excitement and ideas.