Are you looking for something, he asked.
Yes, I replied, my eyes raking his merchandise. Unicorns.
He smiled in that embarrassed way one does, when dealing with strange and awkward people who make outlandish requests like it was the most normal thing in the world.
Unicorns are hard to find, he offered.
I know, I said. But your shop says 'whimsical articles'. And you have to admit, unicorns are whimsical.
He smiled again as we backed away from each other politely, the way people do, when they have nothing left to say to each other.
I still want a unicorn. I want to put it in my new car and let it hang there and guard my journey. A beautiful crystal unicorn with its horn gleaming in the sunlight. Or moonlight.
My own unicorn.
My precious.
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