Children stand for the spaces and feelings that we long for and can't afford anymore. Hence, they must be zealously protected. Their every whimsical utterance recorded in fond memory of what we are no more. Their cruelties ignored. Their colors accentuated, their lights turned up, their darkness shoved under the carpet. I watch their eerie dance of paper-hat and mirth. As they carry out miniature versions of empire and rebellion. Some run around daddy's legs pulling up feminine walls of pink. Some gaze curmudgeonly through the glass-windows of SUVs. One declares his supremacy in the middle of confused gathering of subjects. The blueprint of the real world is mapped out quite accurately. Kings, janitors, whores and wives have taken their place on the stage. Some soft percussion has begun to play in the background. As they wait to take their cues. And crystal-eyed parents watch them in wonder and oblivion. Having carefully cast aside the dark shadows on the stage out of camera-territories.