He stopped near the village. He could see from the nearby windows that people were having their dinners. Odd, he thought. You never think of villagers as having a decent, normal dinner that you can see from behind a window. It’s almost as if that’s reserved for the chic townspeople. The villagers are too much of brutes to do that. He walked past the windows and arrived at the center of the village, still watching the windows, still awe-stricken at the uncommon oddity. Then someone from a nearby street called out, asking him who he was. When he made no replies, the caller came closer and told him that he’s an officer, and that he didn’t know him, which was deemed suspicious considering the size of the village. The man then tried excitedly to speak, to tell him what he’d noticed about the windows and the villagers. The officer sighed and took him by his arms to a mental hospital near the village. After he was shut away, he went on to find new friends, and found that a great many deal were discussing a philosophy they had named Theory of Odd Windows. He was delighted to take part and after a few years he had moved to a senior position among the philosophers, publishing many great works and gathering countless followers. Then he died of skin cancer and his death was mourned all over the Odd-Windowist society, giving him a permanent place in history.