No one knows how the fat man got into town, nor the date, nor the reason. All anyone can say is that there was a time when the bench at the end of the church steps was unoccupied and you were free to walk to Mass without being hassled out of your donation plate change.
He was a narrow-eyed and dark-skinned mammoth of man who always looked drunk, though no one ever saw him in a bar. Sometimes he’d show up in different parts of town, squatting shirtless on the floor of the indoor market or outside the clothing shops on the main strip, with scraps of chicken and grease dripping down his breasts. No one ever saw him leave or arrive, though a few said they had sighted him in different parts of town with only a few minutes between the sightings, and wondered how he was able to move from place to place so quickly with all that baggage and bulk.
Truthfully, on most days no one really paid attention to him, and he wouldn't even be worth the story if he hadn't been found dead and bloated to the size of an ocean liner floating down the river, and stunk the place up.