the old man is twisting balloons into squirrels and elephants, his nose is running and he says "here you go sweetheart." it makes me very sad because the children he is talking to don't care about balloon critters made by little old men with shaking hands. they would rather be playing nintendo or buying something. one orange creature bobs aimlessly along the cement, forgotten and i want to take it home and save it until all the air leaks out, tucked away in a drawer, smelling faintly of talc and smoke.