I’m sitting on a bench outside a restaurant in the little town where I live, soaking up the shade while waiting for my friend. We’re going to have lunch together. A guy I’ve seen around town, but don’t know, walks by. He’s showing his grandfather the sights. “Over here,” he says, “is the town ice cream parlor. And just down here is this restaurant that used to be a brothel back in the twenties. And right there—” he points to me “—is the guy who works at the library.”
Yup. I’m one of the local tourist attractions. And I am a happy people.