Last night at the bottom of a paper sack full of clothes was a pair of Wheelies. You know shoes with wheels on them. Immediately the little girl put them on and headed straight for the top of the cascading wooden staircase. "Yeah, no>dirty look over her shoulder< that is not a good idea." Her mother told her.
Reluctantly she removed the shoes.
Early the next morning before the first coffee pot had been drained the sound of skates gliding across the hardwood floor crisscrossed the stern smart British voices coming from the radio. She skated across poverty, dictatorships, unrest, terrorists, and gun violence.
"Mom?" Her voice hitting the note of a sad forgotten brass bell.
"Yes?" Her mother replied.
"It seems to me skating down the stairs isn't so dangerous."
"In the grand scheme of things I suppose it is not but the answer is still NO," her mother said wiping her hands on the side of her pants and switched the radio off.
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