The man walked slowly. He was white, I mean his skin was white, not the rosy or tan sort of white, really white, like paper, or clean linen, whiter than albino people, whiter than a laboratory rat. From the distance, I couldn't see the colour of his eyes, but I was sure these were white, dead fish eyes. And the man was also naked. And bald. But though he was a white, naked, bald visitor, the strangest part was still that he was a visitor. I was peering through the curtains, and I could see all the curtains in the neighbourhood being drawn apart as if a gentle breeze was blowing inside the houses. The white naked bald visitor had now entered the main street. Sure, he had come with a purpose. He sustained a painfully cautious pace, and he knew where he was going.

I still couldn't see his eyes, but he somehow looked familiar to me. Perhaps he was a ghost. We used to have ghosts here, until the City Council banned all ghostly activities and kicked those poor souls out of town. Could he be the very ghost of somebody I had known, a long time ago, hence the familiarity ? He was close to my house now. The white eyes in a long sad face. He reminded me of the old Mr Weende, a soft-spoken shopkeeper who used to sell candy when I was a kid. Why would Mr Weende come back as a ghost, in full daylight ? He passed me by. I felt relieved. What did we do to Mr Weende ? Some nasty trick. He hadn't been very happy when he had died. I remembered that