morning's air tastes faintly metallic. Children play catch
with their breath,
old folks fall down. Where statuesque trees once stood tall buildings are deeply
rooted. Birds peck at crumbs, then take off in frantic directions.
a building. i think i'm a reporter, and am being shot
at by people inside who think they are terrorists. i
don't have a gun, so i'm handed half a handgun, which
i aim at the door, through which a few people suddenly
run into the street. i follow the one who is the leader
to a car into which he goes, then emerges wearing other
clothes, a disguise that doesn't fool me. i grab him
by an arm to take him back to the building. On the way,
my captive turns into a woman carrying an umbrella. We're
told that she and the others are going to be taken to
prison. I tell her that i'm coming along. 'Why?' she
asks. 'i'm not afraid.'
Kannon signals the "Fear Not" mudra, a blank price
tag dangling from a finger.