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.LP
\&
.ce
.sp |4.25i
.PP
.ps 12
.CW ░
"Do you think this is blasphemous?" Tommy asked, more than a little
sheepishly.
.PP
.ps 12
"More like \fIdiaphanous,"\fR
Peter remarked, dutifully laying it on thick. But his disinterest was
apparent.  He could hardly be impressed by this, Tommy's latest effort in
pink taffeta.  The perky dress abruptly drooped.  Tommy let it drop
all the way to the floor, unfinished.  Of course he was disappointed.  "You
never like \fIany\fR of my pieces, anymore. And what about the color?"
.PP
.ps 12
"I like whatever is good," Peter sighed.  Not this again.
.PP
.ps 12
"Just never
.I
me,"
.R
Tommy jibed, trying now to make the best of a
steadily deteriorating situation by groping after Peter's brown pirate
pants.  He gave them a tug.
.PP
.ps 12
"Stop that," Peter scolded.  "You're behaving like a child."

.PP
.ps 12
The new pieces were just not coming out how Tommy had envisioned them.  He
could admit, now, that he simply didn't possess the manual dexterity,
all right, the sewing skill, to fully actualize his vision for the Fall
collection.  He would have to rely upon Peter for help.  Peter could do
anything.
.PP
.ps 12
Problem was, Peter didn't want to help.  Considered Tommy's dallying
(he called it dallying) with fashion to be a distraction from their
obvious true calling: ripping off the neighbors, making scratch, following the money wherever it might lead.
You know, like Mom and nature intended?  This part may have been sarcastic.
.PP
.ps 12
Yeah, but Tommy cared about more in life than just making money.  He wanted the neighbors to want
.I
him,
.R
too.  And for the
.I
right reasons.
.R
.PP
.ps 12
Silly?  You bet!
.PP
.ps 12
But Peter said okay.

.PP
.ps 12
For what it was worth, Bear liked Tommy's latest (paper) dress.  Picked it up off the
floor after the boys had gone out to do whatever it was they did up
top the silo.  Holding it up in front of himself he felt
pretty, perhaps for the first time in his very long life.
.PP
.ps 12
The boys would pay for that.  In paper.
.PP
.ps 12
Still, Bear was curious as to where it all might lead.  If only Tommy
would keep at it, developing his talent, who knew how far he might go?
.PP
.ps 12
Who, indeed?
.PP
.ps 12
It was a puzzle Bear would worry at, pawing over it like some
negligible smaller animal, right up until the moment he realized it
was too late for him to withdraw.
.PP
.ps 12
Bear studied the dress.

.PP
.ps 12
Peter peered through his hands, enclosing a triangular frame around the
pink fabric of Tommy's latest creation, giving it all the consideration it
deserved.
.PP
.ps 12
"It's just.  This material is preposterous," he finally said.
.PP
.ps 12
\fI"Your mom,"\fR Tommy remarked, and laughed.  It would be hard for
Peter to argue, since his mother was essentially a giant pink triangle
careering around in space.
A spaceship.  Who looked like this dress.
.PP
.ps 12
"Let's leave \fIthat\fR
bitch out of this," Peter laughed.  Tommy laughed
too, perhaps too quickly, but Peter let it slide.  If he himself had
been proven not to exist, well, then, he could hardly raise a flag
over some minor point of procedure concerning his equally non\-existent
mother.  Fair was fair, and all that shit.
.PP
.ps 12
The hard facts remained.
.PP
.ps 12
Peter didn't understand Tommy's art.
.PP
.ps 12
Tommy was sometimes sorry he had created Peter.
.PP
.ps 12
Tommy put on the pink dress and climbed back into the freight
elevator.
.PP
.ps 12
"You coming?" he asked Peter, suggestively.
.PP
.ps 12
"Not yet I'm not," Peter deadpanned his reply.
.PP
.ps 12
Brisk.

.PP
.ps 12
Dad lit his ritual tobacco and invoked Mars deep into his lungs.
Getting born had undoubtedly been a mistake, but, here he was.
Cheers to his parents.
.PP
.ps 12
Smooth flavor, he guessed.  He hadn't been able to discern any
difference between his usual brand and this new stuff his boy had
brought back from somewhere, up top the silo.  He had to smile.
The boy seemed to know his business.
.PP
.ps 12
Breaking the news that he didn't have what it took to compete
in the cutthroat world of military fashion would be a different
story.  His son was sensitive, and rejection was always unpleasant.  But he did like those pink taffeta numbers the boy had been cranking
out lately.  He'd mention it to the Coordinator...
.PP
.ps 12
He hated this.  The merciless honesty.  Everything he had hated about
his own father, who rarely spoke to him but who had always offered his honest opinion of whatever nonsense his son was up to, this time.
.PP
.ps 12
What was he supposed to say?
.PP
.ps 12
God damn it, Dad.