A moment in the life of a confused child whose imagination clouds his perception of reality.

Brewster's eyes leapt from within his deep, vermilion cloak. "Jaime, you'll do it," he demanded. A timorous group of children encircled the two. Brewster moved amongst them, his motion a silent rejoinder, encompassing all of them. "You'll do it." Jaime shifted nervously, hands fumbling his swollen and silken coat, his eyes feverous. "Do it!" Jaime moved backward but the faces descended with his. His hands plucked the fringes of his coat. The children giggled: "Now!" "…

…The man insisted. Brewster focused on the page: the letters failed him, but he likened order to pictures, making the necessary associations for sound. He read, slowly and deliberately, about Dick and Jane. He stumbled whenever he approached an order not yet known, but proceeded doggedly nevertheless. Finishing to congratulations, he swelled with pride. The dusty man gestured at Brewster's voluminous cloak and said, "Your shirt is rather messy; you mustn't wear white when outside."