Who is this man, walking ahead of me down this small side street? He is wearing a very expensive-looking dark suit, and he is trim and walks as briskly as I do, so that I can’t catch up with him without breaking into a run, which I do not wish to do.

He has a bouquet of daisies in his hand, and as he walks he pulls petals from the flowers and drops them to the concrete under his feet. He puts a carpet of yellow beneath him as he walks, and in turn beneath me as I follow him.

I could run up and past him, turning to look at him as I go by, and see the face of the man who wants to walk on flowers like an emperor.

I could, but the story is more beautiful to me with the petals of mystery still attached.