A reflection on the ethics and uses of imagination, written for a Balticon program book of the late 1980's.

It was lying on its side in the middle of the back yard. An oblong, boxlike shape made of some dark material, with panelled doors and small windows on the side that faced me, and with a little roundish projection jutting out at the “roof” end; a shape throwing a fat black shadow in the moonlight, and absolutely there with me and the yard and the real world and my breath going out in a cloud of amazement and cold. A London police call box, lying on its side in the back yard. They don’t use police boxes in London any more—and anyway, what would one be doing in my back yard? On its side, yet?...