He doesn't remember much. From before. It's all a rumpus room of colour and noise. The old TV and the crappy stained carpet with the stupid patterns. That's what a rumpus room is. A place to spill soda. A place to eat chips with your best friend.

He wishes he had a best friend to eat chips with. He spends hours thinking about exactly how to eat chips with a best friend. Do you eat them fast? Do you shove them up your nose and make your best friend laugh? What do you do with the empty packet? How do you get more without a scolding from mom? Where do you buy a best friend? Do they come in six packs? Do you have to refrigerate them after opening? He sighs. This chip and friend thing is complicated. It's probably for the best he doesn't have a best friend.

He thinks that thought hard. Not for the best to have a best friend… Fuck that! The Lone Ranger had Tonto. Batman had Robin. Captain Kirk had Spock. Kipling had his thousandth man. Why doesn't he have a Tonto who brings chips and shares the cigarettes he steals from his mom's handbag?

He looks around. No Tonto. No Robin. No Spock. No nothing. Not even a window. Window. He plays with that word – patticake, patticake, baker's man. Show me a window as fast as you can. Throw it and turn it and eat it on three. Something and something, for you and for me.

Window. He remembers now. There was a window. He was sure there was a window. There was a window. He's not crazy because there really honest to God and cross your fingers with bells on was a window – and you can see through a window – and he saw through the window.

HE

SAW

She saw, by the sea shore…

And no one can take that away from him. It's his – from now till evermore.