Page 190
By Jack Joseph Smith
time, pushed by the theory behind the distruction
of the single family dwelling; And she thought to
the opening of her door, (under the sun may my
walk maybe be golden, but not judged as if I were
a leaf of paper ready to be put in a bank; and
under stars let me not be bagged by sentimental
literature, either in the possession of my own
mind, or by the manipulation of money.) She was an artist.
Inside Jiven Joe's he was preparing for the child-
rens, dance song. One that would bring them in light-
ly; One that would swirl them again in to a delight
for bedtimedreams. Something to make the mothers too,
of the way of their daughters engaging sleep. Lastly
for him in thought; children and theatre were a hold
out from debauchery. The living mask of the child and
dramatist viewed as creatures upon the American earth,
covered the pain of a non-glorified birth, like the
armor of a medieval knight covered the entire flesh
of his being as the preventive meaning before indul-
gence.
Still, old Marie sat watching. Her two early teen-
age daughters had joined her on the steps; but her
little one, the only with blond hair, played down the
street under the lamp-post; She was in a scammer; and
Marie smiled. It was nice to see the little one look