“Thump”

The hacky sack lands on a brick. No one picks the bag of beads up. It just sits there; flat, alone. It sits there and watches impatiently as everyone runs toward the old man. It was on top of the world. And with the drop of a hat it became meaningless. With the drop of that damned hat, and that brittle old man whose head it sat upon.

They ran to his side as he fell to the ground.

The hat fell into the fountain, riding the ripples, with nowhere else to go. The head that it usually rests upon is attacking the ground. The eyes it usually shades are straining, convulsing. The body is shaking violently while the group of hacky-sackers try to restrain the man from smashing his head on the hard brick floor. Everything in this plaza is tainted by the drop of the old man’s hat.