the world of lost things

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I spied a bicycle on my way to work this morning. It sat on its lonesome, leaning against a fence, randomly quirky because of its position in the middle of nowhere. Quite literally, in the middle of nowhere. Not a place where somebody would leave a bike ... no shops, no work places, no bus stop, no houses, no anything, nothing. The owner of the bike is probably looking for it, grumbling about their lack of transportation to work this morning. Why, oh why, did I not lock it up last night! they ask, head in hands, tears streaming down their face. It made me wonder about the World of Lost Things. I suspect the bike's owner will assume it's travelled there, to live amongst the socks which never make it out of the washing machine, the words which get stuck on the tip of the tongue, the car we're pretty sure was parked over there in the car park, the house keys which mysteriously disappear {albeit briefly} from the bottom of the bag we're rummaging in, our minds which get lost in the gutter, and the loose change we popped in our pocket. We can probably find anything in the World of Lost Things. It's just a shame that we can't travel there to reclaim our items.