It rained for the next three days. I passed the piccolo man, hunched over against the driving rain on the stairs of the old library, on my way to class each morning. He was alone.
On Friday, it rained the hardest. I approached the piccolo man from the square and stopped at the bottom of the stairs. I carried a bundle of sticks in my hand for an offering.
I had a sudden thought that maybe he could read my mind. Maybe he knew why I had come. I waited.
He sat peacefully like a great sage. Stoic in the driving rains. I wanted the moment to be meaningful. I tried to think of something insightful to say.
“Hi.”
He didn’t respond. I cautiously walked up the steps toward him. When I got close I heard the deep, purposeful breath of sleep.
I laid the bundle of sticks at his feet and returned to the House.
