I make a show of looking in need of advice, but the little man does not appear, confirming my suspicion that he might have been a ghost, perhaps of a former tailor whose small shop was razed to build this giant mall.
A little man wearing a tape measure round his neck appears out of nowhere, or perhaps from the distant past ….
He measures my neck, provides me with a collared shirt that says NOT FOR RESALE in large letters across the back, and sends me back to the changing rooms.
Sometimes, after he had rejected a jacket but before it went back on the hanger, I would try it on myself, thinking: I could also do with a new suit.
“This one fits you very well, sir,” says the little man.
