There were caps at the hat store. There were quite a few caps, and one cap had a bear patch on it, and one cap had a squirrel patch on it, and one cap had a fox patch on it, and one cap had a gorilla patch on it, and one cap had a beaver patch on it; we didn’t buy any of them, and this is a true story, or it could be. Anything made up could end up being true at some point, at some time, or it could just have some truth in it already, as part of it – as one of its features. In this story, no caps were purchased. No caps for Mason, no caps for Ruben, and no caps for me, either, or anyone else, because all the caps stayed where they were in the store on the shelves meant for caps – the cap shelves. But we were not impoverished due to our lack of caps. We’d had breakfast beforehand. We were full of eggs. We were like cartons of eggs. Also, people say, “Let’s go out to breakfast,” then they go out somewhere and have it. It’s difficult to explain what’s funny about that, but I find it funny. If, one day in the future, we get caps and go out to breakfast, we could wear them (or remove them), and if we remove them, the squirrel, bear, fox, and gorilla could all be together with the plates, and forks, and sugar packets, and ketchup, and everything else. It would be a little like a hat party, an animal party, and a cap-wearer’s breakfast. And if one of the animals were the narrator of the story – say, the fox – the fox could say: “Once upon a time, I was sewn onto a cap and I was on a shelf; later, I was on a head, then I was on a table next to some orange juice, empty mugs, tiny creamers in little plastic, ridged cups, and paper rattles filled with sugar, sprawled out across from a bear – next to a gorilla.”