It was raining. Two men in long coats walked side by side, hands in pockets, faces behind upturned collars. The street they were on was empty except for them, their path flanked by a long row of silent cars drumming a rigid ratatat against the rain. The houses they walked past were silent as tombstones. 

 

"I saw a dragon once." The man on the left said. The man on the right turned his head slightly. 

 

"What?" 

 

"I said, I saw a dragon once."

 

"You haven't."

 

"Well, why not?"

 

"Dragons aren't real for one thing. 

 

"I could have seen a dragon if I wanted to."

 

"Did you want to?"

 

"No."

 

"So, you didn't see a dragon."

 

"I did see a dragon, and there's nothing you can do about it."

 

It was true that the man on the right could do nothing about it, so there was a pause in the conversation. The water glugged against the bars of the storm drains, and somewhere far away a car alarm sounded. 

 

"Did you get a picture of it?"

 

"Of what?"

 

"The dragon."

 

"No, of course not."

 

"I don't see anything ‘of course' about it. Why didn't you take a picture?"

 

"Well, was a dragon, wasn't it? You don't see pictures of them."

 

"If you haven't seen pictures of dragons, how did you know it was a dragon?"

 

"Don't be ridiculous. Everyone knows what a dragon is."

 

Again, the man on the left's logic was unassailable. The pair rounded a corner and continued walking down a different street. It was a completely identical street to the first, so we will not waste words describing it. 

 

"Did you slay it then? The dragon, I mean." 

 

"Nope. Should I have?"

 

"It's a dragon, isn't it? Surely slaying must have crossed your mind."

 

"Do you think I'd need a permit for that?"

 

"What? For slaying a dragon?"

 

"Well, they're probably pretty rare."

 

"You make a good point. But still, aren't dragons known for oppressing the population and pillaging villages of their wealth and breathing fire?"

 

"And? The government does all those things, and I can't slay them. Except the breathing fire bit, and I don't see what's wrong with that."

 

"Something to do with carbon emissions probably. But you couldn't slay a dragon anyway."

 

"That's rather hurtful."

 

"All I'm saying is that dragons are traditionally tough as nails, aren't they?"

 

"I'm sure I could manage. With a grenade or something."

 

"That would be quite inconsiderate of you."

 

"Unfair, you mean?"

 

"No, inconsiderate. What jobs do you think dragons do?"

 

"Mighty little I'd imagine. They probably can't fit through doors."

 

"Exactly. A dragon's only job is to be difficult to slay. What would they do if you take that away from them?" 

 

"Unionise, I suppose. Wow, you're right that would be bad. Why do heroes get magic swords then? Isn't that inconsiderate too?"

 

"Magic swords don't exist. That makes them allowed." 

 

There was a clap of thunder, and the street was momentarily lit up by a clawed tongue of lightning. Down the street a tabby cat jumped out of its cat flap, splashed, and yowled its pitiable regret into the street. 

 

"There's a pie shop over there. How about it?"

 

"Steak and kidney?"

 

"Chicken pot."

 

"Fine."

 

Keep talking, you two. The rain kept pouring and man on the right sighed. 

 

"Ok. You can stop pulling my leg with all this dragon talk."

 

"I'm leaving your leg well alone."

 

"But a dragon? Really?"

 

"I can't believe you can't believe me. Where's your fun? Your whimsey?"

 

"Neither of those things will make your dragon real."

 

"But why does reality matter? Dragons exist, all around us. They breathe down your neck at work, stare out of your phone when you send a risky text, and jump up and down whenever there's an election. You said it yourself. A dragon's job is to be difficult to slay, and it's a very important job at that. Dragons give us the courage to slay them. Without that courage, we may as well lie down in the rain and die."

 

"I guess you're right. So, you definitely saw a dragon then?"

 

"Yep."

 

"Fair enough."

 

In front of them the pie shop loomed large. The man on the right put his hand to the door, and a single tinkle from the door's spring-loaded bell, making the grey street seem three tones brighter. A smell of butter and crust wafted out and settled like snow on the wet asphalt. 

 

"By the way, why didn't you tell me about this dragon sooner? Or go to the press or something. Whatever you're supposed to do when you see a mythical beast from the bedrock of modern culture?"

 

The man on the left stopped for a moment. 

 

"I suppose it was enough for me to know that dragons were real."

 

Then they went in for some pie before continuing their walk. We'll leave them to their food and be on our way. It was raining, after all.