Venerable Kassapa lives alone in a rock-shelter hut on the charity of a police officer in a softball jacket. Routine questions, complicated answers, a brown robe, no milk: turning cold. Filled with energy and potential one day The World descended the escalator and felt no anger because "Nothing like this has ever happened to me before." A white plastic bag, a cell phone, a bottle of water, some white thread, and a New York visit left Venerable Kassapa to contemplate his loss. "With nothing of value they just throw it in the trash." I've never seen a billionaire before, he thought, and then paused to study Donald Trump who peered briefly into a garbage can—just in case—before walking directly toward the monk. The stolen bag did not contain much. A raw lesson duly recorded by the officer, described as "a million pieces of paper."

Bosko Blagojevic
Macy's Day Parade 2009

I cannot be a jealous lover. If worse comes to worse, I'll turn my wife to grass. When you see it in the theatre it might not look so good. It's quite different now. Maybe it went on for too long. It was for hearing; a man in his sixties playing one in his twenties. It was for singing because beauty comes from the voice, if at all. Maybe you don't expect so much out of life. Nobody expects anything out of marriage. An admission of a change in color would not free you from the lack. If I should live to be rid of mine I would be a miserable man. Or, once you get what you want. You love him and you do me no wrong. The whole body and the voice. Every age has had such a prop. By continuing my attentions to you I was prolonging my own self-pleasure. You should thank me for having spoiled what you did. In exposure it was far worse for him. I'll tell you now about half the fortune. Death! Am I not married? You have a mask, wear it a moment.