There was a decided nip in the air. Excuse me! The man said it with his eyes without involving his mouth. His nose was a conk and a half. I nearly said: “Can’t you get past me with that nozzle of yours, then?” I didn’t like being rude but he was asking for it with his mock politeness. Pardon me! I knew at that point, that he was selling something. He pointed to the sky, not with his finger but with his whole face. The air’s nobody’s to sell, I actually said. But he had gone, following his face upwards, into the ghostly clouds, leaving me nothing but a speech bubble.

First published in 'Psychopoetica' (1997), but above is effectively its first publication, because the 1997 version was printed wrongly in a big way!