Dora had been killed. They picked her out because she was so smart. And she was put on ???. Dora, and footage of Dora's last breaths. It looked terribly painful. I tried to protest. I ran looking for the admiral who had watched because ??? They had known all along it was going to happen. She was sent down in the submarine without enough air. I wasn't right. I stood with papers--trying to show people. They tried to ignore me as if it couldn't have happened. Like I was talking crazy. I wanted somebody to do something about it. To fix things. To take it back. I skated to the church parking lot. They were casting a commercial in the Sunday School building. Tough black girls in various stages of undress waited in line and would beat you up whenever they got the chance. I skated away up a steep hill from the angry girls. They waited at a small intersection. I was looking to see which direction I went to. Left, right or straight. I was about 12 feet above them in my skates. I hovered down slowly, stopping with my skates. I was in mid-air. I could have killed them. They knew this and left me alone--stopped chasing me. Tommy Cox was playing a radio game with songs with me. The phone would ring all kinds of numbers. My mother would be calling from a different phone number each time.