Prologue

We don’t know much about him. He doesn’t talk. He just stands there – in front of the window – like a statue. Standing, facing the window, but with his eyes closed. Listening, but for what?

It is the same routine. Those that first see him are apprehensive. He is the last person you would want to see, yet at the same time he is a welcomed sight. Why is he doing this? Why us?