There rarely are days like this.
The sun on an ancient plaza, beating down with equal intensity on the statue of the hero, the old woman on the park bench, the young couple drinking coffee at the cafe, on my upturned face.
I sit on a bench, sipping coffee, listening to Chopin, a book to read on my lap. No one looks, no one cares. And its only me and the sun and the wind and the peace it brings.