I watch the old man thrust his rusty spade into the ground, scoop out a lump of wet earth and drop it on the grass beside him. “You could give me a hand if you like,” he calls. “I’ve got a spare shovel.” I shake my head.“I can’t,” I say. “Don’t be silly. You’re not real. I’m imagining you.” “If I’m not real, how can I be digging a grave?” “Dunno.” “Then I must be real, mustn’t I?” says the gravedigger, returning to his work. “Probably the grave isn’t real either,” I tell him. He doesn’t reply. I watch him […]
