IMAD RAHMAN Petty ActOne I wasbornlarcenous. Got a lengthy postcardfromtheparentsonce. The notespilled overontoan attachedsheetofhotelstationery andthewholething was stuckinan envelopeandmailed.Threedaysafter youcameoutofyour mother's womb, itwent, youpeeddirectly ontoyour grandmother's face. She journeyed all thewayfromtheold country to be therewhenyou wereborn.Youdo notremember herbecausesheisdead now.Butback thenshelaughed, andsaid,Thatchildisblessedandhasaim.Thisisthe lifewe predict foryou.You canpee on theworldand itwillonlylaugh back.You arecharmed, son,and although we abandonyouwithheavy hearts, weleavewiththecertainty thatthisworldisyours toshape.Ventureforth andprosper, andknowthatyourstockisgood.In thisworld, ourlotwas notto parent, butwe do notregret youas youwillsurely cometoregret us.Perhaps wewillmeetatsomepointinanother reality, anotherdimension, wherekarmais love.Withlove,Us. P.S.The first timewe tookyoushopping youtooka packetofKool-Aidofftheshelf and slippedit intoyourmother'shandbag.We founditwhenwe got homeand hadtoasktheuniverse ifweweremeanttokeepitorreturn ittotheshelfWhatwereyouthinking> Youknewthatyouwerenotallowedtodrink Kool-Aid!Butitmadeusloveyoumore.Thisiswhatwe aretalking about. 123 ActTwo When I was eightwe livedin a doughnut cityin a flyover state. The respectable peoplehad all fledto thesuburbs, leavingpeoplelike us, new and permanentimmigrants, to the downtownstreets.Our neighborhoodwas crumpledapartmentbuildingsand boarded-up storefronts. At night, hooded menwithglittering knivesroamedthe alleyways, buttheyleftus alonebecausethey hadcometoregard meas a goodluckcharm.I wastheboyallowedtoplayoutsidebecauseitwas good formyprepubescent development as an adultin -training in this hard,hardworld. Therewasan Ethiopian restaurant ontheblockanda seven-eleven anda comicbookstore. The manwhoownedthestore wasa friend ofmy father's, anothermember ofthedown-and-outers, and he ranthejoint likea library fortheneighborhood kids,had a system whereyoucould borrow up tofive comicsata timefora lowmonthly rate.He hadhairy knuckles and fathairy forearms. I tookthisto meanhe was a chronic masturbator. Of courseI abusedthesystem. He neverchecked, justnoddedand smiledthrough a snarlas I left, so I wouldtakesixorsevenand return fiveandkeepmyfavorites at homeunderthemattress. I was stockpiling ,becauseI wasafraid theRussianswouldattacksoonand therewas no guarantee they wouldnotpillagethenationalcomicbookinventory TheywereRussians! And theworldhadchosentoplacemeina system thatwas guaranteed to enableme to thwart themin myownsmallyet significant way.Itwasmyresponsibility! Butonedayas I waswalking outwithanextra book,HairyKnucklesplacedhishairy knuckles onmyshoulder. "I'vegotyournumber, kid," he said.I lookedup at him.His nosewas hairytoo fromtheinside.I thought he meantsomething else."You wantto call me on thetelephone ?"I said."I think ournumber's beendisconnected." I understood crime, notpunishment. I had neverbeen caught.I oftenstolemoney from myfather's walletandmymother's purse, nota lot,justenoughto stockpile andoccasionally eatspicy dorowotattheEthiopian restaurant whereI hadbecomesomething ofa mascot. 124 HairyKnuckles grabbedthecomicsfrom me,lickedhishairy fingers , andcountedoutloud."Youonlytookone extrathistime," hesaid. "I'm failing math," I said,although thatwasuntrue. I wasinfactbestin class!"You thinktheworldis yourpersonalplayground?" he said. His voicewasdeepbutnowitwasshrieky. He soundedlikemymother. "You think theworldwas putthereforyourpersonalamusement? Forus to giveandgiveandgiveandforyoutotakeandtakeand take?"This sent meinstantly intoa stateofecstasy"Yes!"I said."Yes!"Finally, a kindred spirit! He understood me!Thiswassublime. HairyKnuckles slappedmeon thebackoftheheadandsaid,back ina deepvoicenow,"I'm goingto havea talkwithyourfather." I consideredthis ."Whatgood willthatdo?" I said."He justdoesn'tunderstand .He meditates. He keepssinging, what'ssofunny aboutpeace,love and understanding. He's notlikeyouand me."HairyKnucklesrubbed hisnose.He scratched hishead.He steppedbackandwiggledhistorso and adjustedhisgroin.He sneered, scowled,simmered. He lookedlike a puppetanda mafiakingpin atthesametime."Children wholooklike you," hesaid,thistimesoftly andlikesomeoneonTV "needalltheluck they canget." I neverreturned to thestore, neversawhimagain,although one weeklaterI heardhewas stabbedon thestreet and thenhisstorewas boardedup. I neverreturned hiscomics, theones I'd pilfered. ActThree I wasbleeding. I wastwelve, thiswastheoldcountry, wherewehadbeenliving for twoyearsafter myfather hadtoreturn withhistailtuckedbetweenhis thighs to lickhiswoundsand regenerate. I had sincegrownup around walls.Myhouse,allmyfriends' houses,myschool,thesuburb whereeveryoneI knewlived,a largetract ofreclaimed landsprawling outfrom theocean,everything I could see was bound in bywalls.When I was 12$ insideI couldn'tsee outsidethewalls,so myfavorite memories wereof beingoutsidethewalls.This daywe hadbeenplaying hideand seekat somebirthday party wherewehadbeenallowedontothestreet without adultsupervision, which wasa thrill, andwhichI hadbeenallowedtodo whenwe werein thedoughnut cityin theflyover statewherewe were poorandworking class,andwhichI wasnotallowedtodo nowthatwe werepoor (althoughmydead grandparents, whosehousewe livedin, werenot) and upperclass,and although youweresupposedto pairup withsomeone,I wanderedaroundbymyself Peoplehadservants andtheservants lookedoutoverthegates, the wallsnakedin someplaces,coveredwithbarbedwireand brokenglass inothers, and theservants, they werelookingat me,a childnotofthe streets butoutin thestreets. Then I was lostand founda largeempty walled-incourtyard witha holeinthewalland I wentthrough thehole and founda wide open grassless dirtfieldand therewas a tomb-like thingin thecenterand I headedtowardsitand therewerelargebirds circling and thestenchofsomething awful, mudand shitand decayall aroundandthat's whereI hid,intheshadeofthetomb. And I knewI wasalone,completely alone,and I wasdigging that, notrealizing ofcoursethatwhereI washadoncebeenand maybestill wasa Parsicemetery, a placewherethedeadwerebrought tobe picked cleanbyvultures, an old-schoolrecycling mechanism, nothing wasted, everything reborn. The lasttimeI hadbeenthisalonehadnotbeenquiteso pleasant. Earlier thatweek, whileI wasatschool,there wasa riot.Classwasinterrupted andeveryone hidundertheirdesks.A president, democratically electedbut perhapswithan escalating agendaof behavingbadly, had beendeposedbya military general whohadyettodevelopanescalating agendaofbehaving badlybutsoonwould,and nowthatpresident was beinghangedbythegeneral andsomepeoplewereunhappy. What I wasunhappy about,though, waswhathappenedafter the...