Lying on a bench, in a corner of a park, is a man reading a book. He flicks the pages slowly, licking his thumb and forefinger with each turn. His ears twitch and gradually he is drawn out of the world of fiction by a sound. He glances around at first, unsure of whether he is hearing things or not.
“Who’s there?” He asks. There is no response.
“I can hear you,” the man exclaims. He swings his legs off the bench and stands up, holding his book open with his thumb.
“Stop playing silly buggers and show yourself,” the man says noticing that the voice he hears speaks as he speaks.
“Stop it. I said stop it! That. Stop that. Aargh,” the man lets out a frustrated cry. He sits back down on the bench and shoves his head in his book determined to ignore the intrusion. He staunchly remains silent for a long time. He flicks over a page and sighs as he hears the voice again. He stops reading, putting the book down on his lap. The man remains as motionless as possible giving absolutely nothing to describe.