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It was the centre of attention. The fountain stood proud in the centre of the town. Water cascaded down the sides of the stone, whilst flicking droplets of water at people as they went past. This fountain attracted an array of different people every day: tall, small, 'grade' and 'petite'. 

But everyday, one man sat on the edge of the bench, in front of the fountain. Through day and night he never really moved, except to plod to the nearest bush every now and then. His beard was long and tangled. His clothes were old and dirty. His mind seemed to focus on one thing - the fountain. We don't know whether it brought back memories or the soothing sound was comforting, but what we do know is that one day he vanished. The bench was empty. His hat was no longer on the floor, collecting money that people threw in, and his unpleasant smell was missed. 

The local butcher that gave him leftover sausages was worried. Whereas the laundrette lady took control and began a search party for him. Looking under tunnels and throughout the forests in the surrounding area. She could not find him anywhere.

 When one day, on the warmest day of the year, the fountain was switched off. So when the town centre clock struck the town was silent. When momentarily an unexpected roaring motorcycle sound pounded up the road. Vibrating every shop window and disturbing the dogs that slept. His beard was long but blew in the wind. His clothes were old and dirty but looked good on the motorcycle and his mind still seemed focused on one thing, but not the fountain. The sign to the motorway. 

This town held many memories for Rodger the homeless man, his belated wife and children and his horrific childhood memories. Nobody ever knew where he got the bike from. But we never saw him again...