So, there's this Santa Claus. Around ten feet tall. Installed each year just before Christmas, beside a busy road. He is, customarily, dressed in a bright red suit with glistening white borders. And, of course, there is this cheerful smile to inspire hope and festivity.

The optimism in the air is enough to make you cry. 

Blue skies. Winter mornings. Bright sunshine. Warm pockets. 

It's almost everything beautiful that you can think of putting together in one frame. 

But then, that's how stories begin. Mostly.

Days go by. 

And then there are pigeons and crows. Indiscriminately distributing an equal share of poop to the smiling old man who has no option except endurance. 

Tropical weather adds to the drama.

By the end of two months, there's no cap left. You see a balding old man with an amused expression - almost reciprocating your own, at the trials and tribulations of earthly existence. 

And if there is a storm, the poor man is subjected to the atrocities of imitating the action sequences in The Matrix - laid out horizontally at a perpendicular stretch across the ground, though his feet remain fixed to the initially intended vertical alignment.

At this stage, you identify...for, you are friends now. 

Absurd drama needs no stage. Santa understands. So do you.