Except one a small man, whose age was hard to tell. He was huddled up in the corner, a few metres from the happy holiday crowds who were hurrying to and from. He was covered in a piece of pale blue cloth. For quite a long time, he was still with out even a slight motion, nor did he make any gestures. Begging for money? Or weeping over his misfortune? Neither. He was just sitting there, alone and silent. His hair was grey, much like the withered grass, fluttering on a frosted autumn morning. A bird might well have perched on his head for such a cozy nest, if it were not so dirty. His face was pale and twisted. The nose and the mouth were squeezed t
