HELSINKI 2016 Perhaps everything would have gone differently if I had recognized her immediately and known I should flee. But I didn't; I didn't even turn my head when the stranger sat down at the end of the bench with a slowness to her movements that suggested an expectation of pain. Hoping she would understand that I wasn't looking for conversation, I loudly rustled the pages of the book resting in my lap. I wasn't in this park looking for company. The book belonged to the library located just a stone's throw from the park and its fenced dog run. Carrying a bag bulging with novels made my stops at the park look natural. Whenever anyone happened to ask, I told them how much I liked animals and watching them play but that due to my allergies, I couldn't keep a pet of my own. The woman sitting next to me also didn't have a dog, I noticed, but otherwise my attention was focused on the street surrounding the park. Furtively I glanced at my watch, although I knew I was on time. I was afraid I'd come for nothing.  The woman extended her legs out straight and stretched, as people often do when considering how to initiate conversation -- a yawn, a straightening of a jacket, or a hand gesture laying the foundation for comments about the weather or other trivialities. However, no question came about my book nor any platitudes about the temperature.  Scooting to the other end of the bench, I increased my distance from the interloper. Recently I'd begun watching in a new way the other people idling in the park. The retirees and unemployed people strolling here just needed an excuse to get out. Perhaps someday I would be like that, after I no longer had any actual reason for visiting the park or any schedule to my life. Then I too would want my neighbors to hear the bang of my front door as a sign that I was busy and had friends to visit, and then I would come here to be part of the world by watching other people's lives.  A white miniature schnauzer approaching the dog park received admiring glances from passersby. My companion on the bench perked up. As she leaned forward slightly, I expected her to finally screw up the courage to say something, maybe about the schnauzer's photogenic grooming or its exemplary obedience, but the woman remained silent.  Excerpted from The Dog Park by Sofi Oksanen All rights reserved by the original copyright owners. Excerpts are provided for display purposes only and may not be reproduced, reprinted or distributed without the written permission of the publisher.