There was a man. Some called them a “walker”. Why? Because he walked all the time. He walked like a militar. It was a very unusual sir. He always followed the same speed. Not fast but definitely not slow. Most of his neighbours thought he had some kind of mental disorder. When I say “most”, I mean everyone. I was just trying to be polite with this sir. However, it wouldn’t be fair for you to believe that there was some people who though he was sane or rational.
The younger ones used to do jokes and impressions of him. The older ones used to look at him with pity. The others tried not to look at him, like he didn’t exist. In order words: pretend, which was something they were very good at.
Some people intended to burn him, others to simply kill him… He was stolen in numerous occasions. But nobody cared too much about him.
There are many people in the city of the “walker” who come in for the first time and others have to go, to never come back. Something similar happened to our sir. One day, he walked away and never came back. Nobody dares to say if he died or he simply went to another city.
A month later, a statue was built in his honour, a street was named after him and even a party is celebrated every year to remember the day he was gone. That day, according to the older ones, was the saddest day they remember.