Spaceman
The astronaut was always there, sitting on his bench. No one knew why it was there, or how it came to be. It never moved, not even to shoo a pigeon from it’s shoulder. Children said it was a monster, or that it got lost on the way to the moon. Adults ignored it, only ever sparing it the briefest of glances. Maybe it was a sculpture, placed in the middle of the night; or an empty husk waiting to claim a victim, or maybe, it was an abandoned dream – a childish hope pushed away when the world grew too big.
Whatever the reason, there was a spaceman – lost – sitting in front of the tailors, watching the world go by.
