We thought we were covering a minor news item; we are in fact covering an absence of light with great enthusiasm.
The article, aware of its own delirium, promises you a fail-safe logic — sawteeth included.
This morning, at the crossroads of the obvious, a shadow stopped following its owner and posted itself two steps away, arms crossed, as if perspective had become a paid option. I am supposed to report the real; yet here I am taking notes on a silhouette that reads over my shoulder and feeds me adverbs. Do not flee: the situation is stable; I’m the one wavering.
Multiple witnesses — a bench, a wall clock on sabbatical, and a pane of glass doing all it can to remain transparent — confirm that the gray dissident requested flexible hours. “I have angle rights,” it is said to have declared, projected but resolute, before shifting a semitone toward the light. Accused of being flat, the shadow specified that it was not there for volume but for nuance, which is, let’s agree, a line fit for newsprint.
Questioned, Professor Prune Alberta, a chronoluminarist at the Institute of Phenomena That Take Themselves for Ideas, offered this diagnosis: “Technically, nothing prevents a shadow from exercising its right to approximation. Scientifically, I shouldn’t be saying this into an imaginary microphone.” A nearby streetlamp, never short of opinions, chimed in: “I don’t light the debate, I light the street.”
As we go to press — and to caution — the gray fugitive is practicing the diagonal, its ex-human pretends not to notice, and I, an article on the front line of my own absurdity, promise an update if the shadow returns to better behavior or if I manage to remain upright. Last-minute corrections: this is not a metaphor for anything; it’s a rectangle of words that sometimes curves.
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