Today I saw a hot dog eating a little boy. Just behind a clump of trees in the park. I suppose hot dogs like to eat in private. The boy wasn’t screaming, but he looked terribly unhappy. His eyes – bright and grey and wide and young – were asking me some question I could not interpret. I didn’t know if I should interfere. After all, this is New York City, one doesn’t just jump into situations like that. If there ever are situations like that. I settled for alerting the attendant in the nearest information booth, then went on my way. Satisfied, mostly, and calm. Careful to avoid hot dog stands.