I didn’t stop her as she walked into the

I didn’t stop her as she walked into the woods. I spent the rest of the morning and afternoon breaking out the remaining windows of the factory with rocks. I was a little

kid with big plans. After breaking windows I was going to scrape old gum off the sidewalk and chew it until gingevitus gave me the permanent solution to brushing my teeth. Window

displays begged to be tagged and Old Man Wilson's prize rose garden... it didn't stand a chance against my size 6 combat boots. Maybe later I would

tiny feet. Russians prize big shoes, big hearts, and tiny dancers. I just didn't fit in. Probably why i started to play polkas on the banjo in the first place. Outcast folk music

marked me as an outsider, and the ordinary Russians shunned me. But soon I attracted an audience of the disaffected, as my rebel songs fired their hearts, inspiring them to

love me as they had never before. As I finished, they embraced me, and I felt comfortable in their warm grasp.

Until they threw me off the roof, that was a rude awakening. I bounced off a couple of awnings and landed in a flower bed. Heart broken, I dusted myself off and vowed that I would

never illegally download music again after I got that Damu the Fudgemunk song. I gazed down at the garden of rununculus and bat face cupeah that had broken my fall and realized

that I was in a giant version of one of those desktop Zen gardens. I turned on some pirated meditation music featuring beluga mating calls and raked ripples into the sand.