The funny looking little man in the pointed hat sat on the bench. Nobody paid him much mind, mostly because he wasn't there, yet there he sat waiting for something that would never arrive. Whenever someone sat down beside him he'd lean over and whisper in their ear, "For what is it you wish," and sometimes they'd answer back. He still had yet to hear the perfect wish. So, still he waits, and if you ever find yourself on a seemingly empty bench and the wind whispers its question its best not to answer because the odds are not high that you'll make the perfect wish.