Antique shopping, I round a corner and nearly trip over a boy in a paper tiger-mask. He starts, scrambles backward, then pauses in my path. His hands are on the floorboards, and he rocks forward and back, eyes fixed on mine. I smile for a moment, and then realize he is gangly, tall, perhaps too old to be crawling around.
We pause for a moment, at impasse. A giant warehouse fan whirs beside him. He turns his head, bares his teeth one at a time, and growls softly into the fan blades.