I would be the friendly hitchiker you pick up on a lonely desert road and chat with about anything and everything during the long drive. When you finally reach my destination you turn to say goodbye, but the only trace of my presence is the lingering smell of cigarette smoke.

I would be the woman who asked you for directions to the nearest Internet cafe.

I would be the dashing stranger you meet on a cruise ship, the one who seems strangely distant from the other passengers in a way that's just so compelling. When the evening draws to a close I disappear below deck, never to be seen for the rest of the voyage. My room turns out to be unoccupied and my name is absent from the passenger roster.

I would be the woman who paid with exact change when everyone else that day payed in tens and twenties.

I would be the mysterious silhouette people claimed to see in the ruins of the old movie theatre, laughing and weeping at films only she can see and hear. The place has long since been torn down and turned into a condo of course, but the residents swear blind they've seen the flicker of what could be a projector light emanating from the basement.

After you both get seperated at the local mall, I would be the woman who waited with your kid until you found him again.

I would be the strange woman at the train station whose conversation you found so compelling you missed your train to work; the train that crashed an hour later killing everyone on board. For the rest of your life you take a train to work from the same station, but you never see me again.

I would be the woman who held the door open for you at the store while you struggled with your shopping bags.

I would be the laughing woman seen walking around the landing site by the crew of the first manned mission to Mars. Outside, without a spacesuit. It can, of course, easily be explained as a Martian mirage or the psychological effects of being so far away from home on an alien world. Or at least it could if those damned footprints didn't keep showing up.

I would be the woman who returned your wallet after you left it at the coffee shop.

At a squat populated by heroin addicts in New York, I would be the one responsible for that telephone number written on the bathroom mirror whenever it gets steamed up. The telephone number is for a drug treatment centre situated less than a ten minute walk away. One of the squatters eventually goes on to live to the ripe old age of 90. Her grandchildren miss her greatly.

I would be the woman who gave up her seat on the bus for you yesterday.

I would be the "damning voice" mentioned in the diary of that guy found dead in his apartment last month. Surely you read the story in the newspaper? He gouged his eyes out and pierced his eardrums with knitting needles before cutting his own throat with a hacksaw. At his apartment the cops found 2000 homemade pornographic videos, many involving children as young as nine.

I would be the nice woman who helped your grandmother cross the street this morning.

In short, I'd be the sort of ghost that turns up anywhere and everywhere. Just like the one standing behind you right now watching you read this.

Imafakerandiloveit, the friendly ghost.