"Dieter was hunched forward, balanced on the balls of his feet, his chin jutting out from his chest. He had his hands up, palms out, fingers splayed. He patted the air in front of the hole, swiping at it, running his hands back and forth and up and down along an invisible plane, mere inches from the guards' faces. They stared, transfixed. No one spoke. Dieter continued to slide his hands through the air, reaching forward again and again, each time stopping in the space where the wall once stood.
The two guards stood frozen in contemplation. The bushier one opened his mouth and then closed it. The other opened his own mouth and left it that way.
'Upon further examination,' said the first, 'I might want to revise my initial opinion.'
'I was just thinking the same thing,' said the other. 'I can't say it looks exactly the same as other walls I've seen. But there's clearly a wall there--I feel sure of that.'
His partner squinted. 'I feel the same way. I wasn't sure how to say it, but you--you've described it perfectly'
'Not all walls are the same.'
'Certainly not.'"
The Pickle Index, Eli Horowitz