For the sin of pride the authorities made me wear this little hat. It fits me no better than a baby turtle, this blue plastic derby secured by a rubberband round the chin. Though I was allowed to stay on in my high position, my authority was subverted like a poster scrawled over with mustaches and black teeth.
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We reached the car, and I held the door open for him, but he didn't climb in right away. He stood there rocking on his crutch, gazing off at the sky and the fields and the fall trees starting to go the color of sherbet