The Nation of the Glorious Turnip

He sat on a park bench for hours, watching people pass by.

A young attractive lady with a small dog, an elderly gentleman with a cane humming a familiar tune, a jogger working up a sweat, a group of children shouting loud and ignoring the woman with her groceries, forcing her to step of the path, another elderly gentleman this one without a cane, seemingly out to feed the birds stood for close to the bench a few minutes, feeding a few pigeons, several business men on their lunch break, speaking of executive decisions, someone wearing traditional muslim clothing, in a hurry to get somewhere, a middle aged lady with too much groceries, a teenage boy and girl, all over each other, a photographer, out to shoot some shots in the park, a group of schoolboys skipping class, the businessmen again, on their way back to their office, three elderly ladies, chatting about nothing in particular, speaking loud to overcome their poor hearing, a lady with a large dog appearing far away in her thoughts, a well dressed gentleman speaking on his cellphone, a young man sits next to him on the bench for a few minutes eating his lunch sandwich, he is greeted by a passing girl, they briefly chats and the girl runs of to her next appointment, the young man gets up and walks back to wherever he came from, the bird feeding man passes the bench again, his bag of old bread now empty, a few more ladies pass with their groceries in quick succession, a cyclist violates to no cycling sign and rushes by, a large dog runs along with a loose leash, followed shortly by a panting lady, now quite alert with her thoughts. an attractive young lady, now carrying her small dogs passes by.

Not one person noticed him sitting on the bench, so he got up and went home, where he found that the mirror did not glance at him either. It merely stood there, waiting for him to acknowledge his own existence.