There wasn't any water in the fountain in the town square. The locals used it for their crops, and the population moved on one by one when it ran dry. An elderly couple remained, just the two living contentedly in what others might consider a ghost town. Later in the afternoon, when the sun wasn't cruel, they would stroll to the square and feed the pigeons together. With gnarled hands, they crumbled bread and sprinkled it on the ground. Then, when the night's chill arrived with the setting sun and the now resting pigeons had consumed the bread, they would return home and fall asleep together, as they had done for over 70 years. One evening, she rose to walk home, but he remained seated. She stood motionless, slowly leaned and kissed his forehead, placed his knit hat neatly on his head, and began walking from the square. Just before turning the corner, she turned around and looked at him sitting in the sun; the last rays were elongating his shadow. A pigeon had nestled down in the crook of his arm among the folds of his worn wool jacket.