INSTRUCTIONS FOR RETURNING YOUR SHADOW

The trouble began at noon, when my shadow turned left and I continued straight.

It detached cleanly at the edge of a pedestrian crossing and walked into a bakery. A moment later the sun went behind a cloud. I could no longer prove it had ever belonged to me.

The Lost Property Office occupied the basement of a train station scheduled for demolition thirteen years earlier. Its counter was staffed by a woman made entirely of black umbrellas. She placed a form between us: PLEASE DESCRIBE THE OBJECT, INCLUDING ITS REGRETS.

I wrote, ABOUT MY HEIGHT. SOMETIMES BRAVER THAN ME.

"Good," she said. "Now tell me whether you want it back."