I was walking around in a part of the world I'd never been before, early for a business meeting as I was: a sunny day, too. A nice estate of houses back of Main Road where you might not have expected houses at all, let alone an estate.
A tiny girl on a tricycle asked: "Are you the postman?"
"No," I answered with conviction and assurance.
"I told you he wasn't," said a little boy nearby.
I walked on confident that, although not particularly sad, I would later find myself crying bitterly about the event.
(published 'Psychopoetica' 1989)