Public fountain luxury

Waddling away from that park crate felt like an Olympic decathlon, but the glow of city lampposts steered me into the town square. Right in the middle sat the stone fountain, bubbling with careless indifference. Climbing up the tiers sounded like cruel and unusual punishment, but resting against the lowest stone basin was a forgotten woven straw hat, flipped upside down. I dragged my frame over the stone edge and collapsed right into the hollow crown. The stiff straw cradles my back like an ergonomic chaise lounge, catching the gentle mist without getting me wet. Staring at people walking by while lying down is peak civilization.