"Mommy, I can't see. That man shook hands with me." Tunnels from the crayon colored windows make specks appear; sticks floating in a stream. I grab them, but I don't grab them. When I open my hand they reappear. Out of the purse comes my army man and Indian, standing on the hill that is my knee. The people stand and sing. They are kicking and hitting, start to bleed. At the end they are dead in Daddy's pocket. He gives me money, but I have to drop it in the soup dish and be quiet,
