caprice: Market Square

No one walked or shopped in Market Square that afternoon. The contents of at least two lakes were currently being dumped on the whole city; a conspiracy that several suspicious clouds had been seen plotting for the last few days. Market Square was in no shape to be walked and shopped by the average hundreds of people that patronized the center on a daily basis. Some of the stores remained open, in desperate hopes that someone might actually stop by to pick up some groceries, or perhaps purchase a rare book, but most of the stores had given up entertaining any notions of business that day. The rain was not debilitating, at least not physically. If a brave soul had determined that he absolutely must go to Market Square to fetch some fine wine for his evening party, then he would simply become a very wet person. There was no danger of harm to anyone, nor was there any danger of serious flooding, but it drowned spirits with melancholy and flooded minds with boredom. That having been said, if one were to look upon Market Square that soggy afternoon, one might find a surpising sight. In the middle of the Square was a chair. On the chair sat a man. The man wore a jacket and tie, and looked a perfect gentleman. He sat, facing the west entrance to the Square, with his right leg crossed over his left knee. He looked around every once in awhile and every other once in awhile he would check his pocket watch, but seemed otherwise at peace. By his side, on the ground, was an umbrella the most extraordinary shade of orange.