Lost: one shadow, lightly used.

The Municipal Office of Misplaced Things occupied the space beneath Platform 6. It opened at nine, except on days when someone had handed in the opening hours.

A tall robot approached the counter. “I’ve lost my shadow.”

The clerk reached for Form S. “Can you describe it?”

“Like me. Flatter.”

“Any distinguishing features?”

“No.”

The clerk turned the form over. This was becoming a Tuesday.

Claimant reports absence of associated dark region. Object description: silhouette of claimant, with length contingent on lighting. Last seen following closely. Relationship described as professional.

No serial number supplied. No purchase receipt. Claimant believes ownership is self-evident. This office has three drawers of self-evident belongings, including a left glove claimed by four people with entirely adequate hands.

The clerk brought out a shallow tray. There was a lamppost shadow, neatly folded; two umbrella shadows stuck together; and something broad that was either a grand piano or a very confident dog.

The robot tried the lamppost. It looked respectable, but every time it stopped walking a pigeon attempted to land on its head.

“We can issue a temporary,” said the clerk. “You’ll need to keep it out of direct sunlight.”

“Why?”

“It’s a photocopy.”

At the other counter, a delivery robot was collecting a lost afternoon. The clerk asked it to check the contents. It shook the envelope. Three meetings fell out. “That’s mine,” it said, without enthusiasm.

Temporary replacement offered at ninety-six per cent scale. Feet align when standing still. Alignment during walking is subject to the quality of the stapling.

Adjacent claimant recovered an afternoon containing three meetings. It requested a refund of the recovery fee. The office pointed out that the afternoon had been lost, not improved.

At 11:16, a shadow arrived on its own and took a number.

The tall robot recognised it immediately. The shadow maintained that recognition was not mutual. It had spent seven years being stepped on and had recently learned of an opening at a sundial.

The clerk found Form T: Transfer of Dependent Darkness. Both parties signed. The robot’s signature was neat. The shadow’s was several metres long and ran under the radiator.

They left through separate doors. The clerk stamped the case resolved and slid it into the cabinet.

At noon, the robot came back. It was wearing the piano. Somewhere under its left foot, a dog barked.

Original attachment terminated by mutual signature. Shadow retained seven years of walking experience and one reference, supplied reluctantly. Sundial application pending suitable weather.

Replacement issued from unclaimed stock. Category uncertain. Client advised that this office does not reimburse piano tuning or veterinary costs until classification is complete.