the village square
Back at the village square, there is a small pedestal where the village idiot stands during lunchtimes, glaring balefully at the swirl of happy lunchers around him. The pedestal has only three statues of sports people decorating it, one is missing, and I could never find out what the missing sports-player played. But never mind, the village idiot makes up for it. He's singing, he's talking, he's even throwing his hands about in theatrical gestures. Nobody meets his eye, and the security guard watches him through the corner of his eyes, waiting for a wrong move, but it never appears, and the crackle of his walkie talkie takes him away. Meanwhile, the food-stall people remonstrate with him when he gets too close to their customers, but by and large, the village idiot is free to sing and babble his way through the entire square. I see him occasionally in other places in the square, and he walks with the assurance of one who is comfortable in the land.