Shadow play

narrative, despite all my affectations, is greek to me. coming home early this evening, i saw the tail end of a procession of two—or was it three?—lanky, young men hauling a love seat with faded floral prints a floor above mine. they seemed so circumspect about the exercise as if moving in is now a felony.  then, i was distracted, no miffed, by this restaurant flyer guilefully left on my doormat. mostly when i go to a play, i am more transfixed when there is a lull in the action and the stage momentarily blackens out and i see the shadows of stage hands moving around like ghosts without stories to tell.