Feed the Birds

[stands_for_something]

There's an old man sitting on a bench at the edge of one of the Forum's open spaces, half a bag of sunflower seeds and a pad of unlined paper sitting next to him and a congregation of pigeons and stranger things around his feet. He sprinkles the oblong black grains out a few at a time. By his build, he was some kind of athlete in his prime, and by his posture he was some kind of soldier; the blue windbreaker and khaki pants fit him well, and the passing traffic of otherworldly beings seems not to alarm him.

He does, when he's nearly out of seeds, speak up as he's seen others do, inviting whoever happens to be nearby into a philosophical discussion: "when do you start thinking about the legacy you'll leave, and what do you think it will be?"