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man with no shadow continued to the checkout, leaving the small child sitting in the cart, surrounded by cans of vegetables, giggling away.
The man with no shadow didn’t like to carry this much at once. His pockets were getting heavy, but he only had one more stop so he might as well finish his work for the day. A part of him saw the woman at the grocery store as a good omen, an extra bit of good fortune. But a part of him wondered if it was the opposite. He hurried on to his destination, afraid he wouldn’t find the perfection he’d been hunting for so long.
She was there. Every Friday morning, she came to the playground with her mother so she could run around screaming with other children. Then, when they all left, she would sit in the grass and converse with imaginary friends, offering invisible tea and politely brushing crumbs off their intangible fur. She would be a challenge, of course. Parents were attentive, suspicious, paranoid even. But the mother would slip. They always did.
His chance came when a child fell off the monkey bars. The cries of a wounded creature lured responsible adults like flies and the mother stepped forward to see if she could assist or at least get a better look. Meanwhile, the man with no shadow approached the girl.
She glanced up at him with a smile and offered him tea. He graciously accepted, then offered his hand to shake. Instilled with good manners by conscientious parents, she stood and gave him an exuberant high-five. By the time the sound faded, she was gone, and the man with no shadow was lost in the trees, stuffing something into his oh so heavy pockets.
Done for the day, he headed home. Like him, his house had no shadow, and like his shadow, his house did not exist. But no one had noticed and his neighbors hadn’t complained so there it sat, stubbornly ignorant of its existential status, or lack thereof. He parked his