South of Canal St. in Chinatown we were using the Chinese factory after hours to frame pictures and glue them. Joe Fong cut out beautiful, eery, disturbed pictures of blue houses and glued them against black and white skies. He left glue bubbles everywhere. I went down to the corner to wait for my sister. I waited and waited. A guy came by and said, "What are you doing?" And I said, "I'm not sure. If I wait here my sister will walk by." He said, "Then I'll wait for you." I climbed up the ladder to look and see a few of the cards we'd made but really they were junk. William accidentally threw a roll of paper towels out the window onto a busy Chinatown street. Then Carlos threw a stapler out the window. Then a stranger threw a wrench. We agreed it was time to pour wet cement. One inch thick and boards on sides. The Chinese children were running a scam. I could see the sunlight in little girls' hair. Golden sunshine sparkles. I looked over my shoulder for Dora. It was an old show from a TV that was playing. I walked up a steep staircase and was trying to find where we parked the car in Chinatown. I remembered kicking the door 3 times. On top of the building was s steep roof covered with tiny Chinese lanterns. I started stomping lanterns and a girl said, "What's wrong?" And I said, "My sister used to love these." She said, "Have you ever had a telepathic experience?" And I said, "Yes." An artist in prison was standing up on a desk. His cell was 8-sided with windows and painted yellow. He was sitting tracing his feet and trying to paint a comma, huge, in one window because, he said, "What's behind it goes on and on, like what's behind corners. Endless words. Endless space. He was happy drawing.