It's almost Halloween.

Sometimes I look for proof of human existence, because the evidence isn't always compelling. I see people walking down the street, filling elevators, riding the bus and wondering down the halls, but they don't necessarily exist. They could be ghosts, figments of my imagination. For some reason, when I see people interact with other people, I am a little more convinced that they may not be a ghost or an aural blip on the screen of my brain, because something tells me that ghosts don't talk so much to each other; they are not interested in the world they inhabit, but the one they don't inhabit.

I am utterly confused by the days in which I feel like a ghost. Perhaps there are days where we emit no energy, where we pass through most of the radar of human perception undetected. It is, perhaps, a facet of the little known art of not being seen. Some days I must have a knack for it. Other days are sore thumb days.

But back to the other ghosts, the other people. I almost feel like when I see these people I expect no shadow to cross over them. And I write this here because I think if I told people they would think I'm crazy . . . no need to add fuel to that fire.