Once, in Beijing, a young girl in a red gown huddled in a doorway. A nice day, bright, the sun moving between tall building willfully. The young girl stared at the sidewalk, waiting for another band of light to finish marching across. Her hands played with the material of her gown, absent-mindedly. She was hungry, but ignored it. Now was not the time.

At last, shade, and the girl stood up, and gently emerged from the doorway. This shadow was fat, and growing fatter, as the sun made its inexorable way. She took a step, and then another. At night, when she ran and ran, the dress rustled, and the sounds chased her down the streets. But now it was silent.

Another step, and something warm-- she'd misjudged the angles, stepped too close to the edge of the shadow, keeping her feet in but exposing the top of her head. She jumped back, but it was too late. The illusion was broken.

The girl sighed, removed the dress, straightened the wrinkles in her t-shirt an shorts. She stuffed the dressed under one arm, and walked boldly into the sunlight. Time to go home anyway. Supper, soon. Noodles, maybe and some tea, bright, sun-shiny food.