It was a blustery day down in the town of SockTicks, everyone was inside having their ritual nap.....except for one man. He sit on the bench in the cold wind waiting for the one thing to answer his freedom call. How long he has sat there was unknown, it may have been mere minutes or mere weeks. Perhaps longer, he wasn't sure but he was not about to ask. Everyone knew that he sat there and were all positive that he would do so for the remainder of time. Everyone took care not to disturb his place, but simply let him rest quietly.
Suddenly the breeze blew with a gusto and an eeary moan. A passerby, unsual for this weather, paused to glance at the man on the bench, he glanced down at the gentleman's feet and read the rusting plague:
"Here sits the statue of George H. Dintz, died April 16, 1937, while waiting for the bus."
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