You'd think there wasn't any magic in the world

Somewhere else a heart shaped zeppelin floats on the horizon, a string of infants dangling from its tail, but right here there's just me and Fred, arguing outside Grand Central.

The way Fred talks you'd think there wasn't any magic in the world

- Jake. We can't afford it. The dollar is down again today.

He shakes his head, not wanting my dreams to catch on. He shakes his head and bites into his apple.

With Fred it's all markets and eat right and sensible shoes. His friends say we compliment each other, that he grounds me. My friends just talk about something else. These days when Fred talks about stuff like this I drift off. (These days when Fred talks I drift off.)

He tells me of redundancies at work and I look past him, imagine bouncing round this vast space like a rubber ball. Tourists and business men scream as I head straight for them, a human sphere shouting, It's okay! You aren't in any danger!

He must notice I'm not listening because he starts pulling on my ear lobes in a way that means affection. His handsome eyes lock onto mine and I can't say they don't have an effect.

- I just want things to work out for us. We can't run off to Japan just because you like sushi. We have responsibilities.

I scoff by mistake and he lets go of my earlobes.

When we get home Fred prints out our joint bank statement. Look, he says, like I could be unaware of our finances.

At dinner I present him with a pile of credit card offers and Hello Kitty! rubbers, enjoying this creative communication.

It makes him angry.

- Why do you collect this shit?

While he shows me his anger I imagine we're on Win, Lose or Draw with Burt Convy cheering us on. Fred holds up a picture of a fist and I hold up a picture of a man cringing. An explosion. The titles run.

Later when Fred apologises I smile. Tomorrow I'll board a plane to Kyoto with a thousand dollars from the joint account. That's a hundred and six thousand yen, give or take.

And somewhere else the last unicorn might be running, hounded, into the forest, hunters hot on its tail, but tomorrow I get on a plane.