I am the invisible man. I have been invisible all my life. I walk past cars and they don’t notice me.
Tall buildings that stand regally in the sun, don’t even blink when I walk through their revolving doors.
I am the invisible man. Nemesis to the vain, a burden to none.
I am the invisible man. I have an invisible dog. It can’t fetch sticks, rollover, or sit. Sometimes when we play, he gets overly excited and bites my hand, the hand that feeds it.
It never hurts.
I am the invisible man. I live in an invisible house. My neighbours mow my lawn and tend the vegetable patch in the back yard.
I often invite them for dinner, but am never seen when they arrive.
I have an invisible car. I hate that no one ever gives me way. I sit on my invisible horn and shout invisible threats.
I have invisible dreams. Sometimes, I dream I am in a rock band, adored by fans and beautiful and ugly women throw their sweaty underwear at my feet.
I am the invisible man. I once had an invisible girlfriend. She said she loved me true. I remember one invisible morning she left for work and never returned.
I am the invisible man, her note said, and I have an invisible heart.