Scenes 2. The Square.

The square – a rectangle snatched from streets and buildings, guarded by some trees and a fountain. There are many squares like this one in the city, hiding in the shade of the buildings, nothing special on the city plans, becoming unique only in the inhabitants’ heads.
Why such a square? What is its justification?

If it weren’t for the square, grannies would have nowhere to chat in the breeze of their flowery fans. Granddads would have nowhere to read their newspapers and play chess, checkers, bowls. Their swollen feet would have nowhere to rest after a long, hot day.

If it weren’t for the square, small girls in pleated skirts and knee-high socks would have nowhere to run after coming back from school. There would be no place for them to skip, run away from the pigeons, play in the sand and fall from the climbing frames (because there almost always is a playground on the square, like a Russian doll). Their plaits would have to get undone somewhere else, too.

If it weren’t for the square, their schoolmates wouldn’t have anywhere to play football and then gulp down ice-cold water during the break between scoring the best goals in the world.

Scooters, plastic tractors, balls of all kinds, buckets and spades, bikes, helicopters, trumpets and, most of all, rosy cheeks wouldn’t have anywhere else to go, either.

If it weren’t for the square, nobody would smile at the sight of clumsy puppies and no one would admire the old dogs lying motionless in the shade of their owners.

If it weren’t for the square at least three cafes, with doors coloured blue, white and plum respectively, wouldn´t exist.

If it weren’t for the square, the fountain would have no place to whisper, and the murmur of conversations would have to emigrate. The street lamps would have nowhere to strut elegantly, waiting for the dusk. The benches would be lonely, deprived of a purpose in their twisted lives.

If it weren’t for the square, football wouldn’t come to life in heated debates after every game, and gossip would have a tough task finding a different medium for its sensations.

And what about me? I would have nowhere to go on one June, Friday evening, between 18.37 and 21.03.