A SIREN IN THE NIGHT
Mother, send me to sleep in the arms of crosstown wailing. I can bear anybody's troubles as long as my own house is full of fry smells and chocolate. The continual bad news cannot erode me; I only play at listening to it. I don't go to any of the so-called trouble spots, the dark camps of hideous black and yellow souls lit from within and thrashing in a gravy of disaster. No, I'm tougher than that. I am one strong pigeon.