Hot in February, at the dead end street called Oak, in the gutter that opened like a steel cavern at the sidewalk’s end, a child laid dormant. The child looked at the sky and scratched the leathery skin of its neck and emerged into the gentle sun beneath the shading evergreens. It opened its mouth and croaked something that could’ve been WARBLE GARBLE and spat a wad of damp newspaper onto the pavement. Satisfied, the child stretched itself to its full seven foot height. It breathed in the surface air, filling itself up like a balloon, panting fast as it could, testing itself. At last the child vomited up a pound of wet newspaper and collapsed to the ground. It never moved again.