He laughed every time he saw a statue in a park or square. At some point in time, a critical mass of the general public had so admired this person, that they immortalized him by erecting a figure to be shat upon by passing birds for centuries to come.
The cool wind stirring through his hair and filling his nostrils, he opened his mouth to take in a deep breath of this sweet, new life, for he had finally made it to the top of the top; the summit of the mountain we call success. It felt good, really good there at the top, except for an acute, tugging pain in his abdomen that seemed to be nagging sadistically, cackling at him like an old witch, “There’s only one direction you can go now, buddy – hee-hee hee!”
I swear the moment I’m famous, I’ll totally call you and we’ll hang out.
And you’ll do the same, right?