Tulu sweeps the square every morning at six. Not because it’s dirty, but because he likes the rhythm – sweep-sweep, turn. Sweep-sweep, turn.
Some say the grooves on his hat come from years of twirling brooms. Others say they were there before he was.
He remembers everyone's birthdays, has a joke for every occasion, and hosts an annual “Nothing Festival” where no one does anything but sit around and hum. “Peace,” he says, “needs practice.”
Everyone in Morrowbay knows: if you’re feeling muddled, go find Tulu. He’ll hand you a warm light and ask, “What do you think it means?”