“Sir, I’m having trouble with one line on your application.”

“Which line?” the man asked, leaning over to look at the form.

“Here.” The salesman pointed. “Where it says, ‘Name’. You entered ‘No’.”

“That is correct,” the man answered, with a nod of his head.

“So, you are Mr. No? Or is that your first name?”

“I don’t have a name.”

“Yeah, right,” the salesman laughed. Then he noted the man’s perfect seriousness, and swallowed the next chuckle. “Please, sir, I can’t sell you the car without your name.”

“Why not?”

“What if this is a fraud?” The salesman blushed slightly.

“You have my loan approval from the bank and the check for my down payment. I assume you have called and verified it.”

“Well, yes.” The salesman turned in his chair as if preparing to run from a madman. “But how would we contact you?”

“Why would you need to?” the man asked. Then he shrugged and pointed to the application. “My address is on the loan application and my check.”

“Well, yes,” the salesman said again. He seemed to note his own repetitiveness and nervously cleared his throat. He gave the check a second look, and saw it had no name. With a start he looked at the bank loan approval. No name. “How would we address you?”

“With my address.” The man revealed a huge smile as he spoke.

“All right.” The salesman let the paperwork drop to his desk. “This is just absurd. How did you get a bank account without a name?”

“I had my driver’s license for proof of residency. It has my picture, you know. Oh, and I had a paycheck from my employer.”

“But how did you get a driver’s license?”

“By passing the test. Nothing in the state code says you need a name to pass the test.”

“Your signature!” The salesman held up a finger in victory. “I can’t give you the car until you sign the application.”

“I did.”

“You did?” The salesman picked up the paper from his desk again. “What is this? It looks like a little owl.”

“I’m a good artist, aren’t I? I teach art. A signature is simply proof of authenticity — a unique sign. I think you shall find mine very unique.”

“But,” the salesman sputtered in frustration. “But why an owl?”

“Whooooo?” the man cooed.

The salesman dropped his head into one hand, and held out the keys with the other. “Please go. I have a headache.”

Resha Caner has dreamed many dreams, but found trying to pursue them all a bit counterproductive–and very expensive. On the positive side, dreams have given him an infinite amount of story material. Some of this has recently been shared at “Sage of Consciousness”, “Planet Mag”, “SNReview” and “Bewildering Stories”.

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Every Day Fiction