Tom Oatmeal

And after handing the couple back the brochure they had accidentally dropped, I zipped off, hands outstretched as if flying.

“I’m sorry, we never got your name,” said the man, but when he turned around I had already vanished.

“Wow…he’s gone.”

“No, he’s not,” said the man’s wife, clearly annoyed.  ”He’s over there.  Rifling through that garbage can.”