I found a unicorn standing in my yard, so I hung the washing on it and went back inside. By the time my sheets had dried it was still there and I was no more inclined to proffer belief. I went to the kitchen and slathered a carrot in butter and sprinkles and took it outside to talk. You can’t be here, I said, my life doesn’t have room for magic. The unicorn chewed dully and shook its horn, tiny rainbows falling from its mane. I went back inside and turned on the news, there’s a war going on.

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