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Show in my father's house/ 185 maybe I could make more - and she would smile and say, "Did you make all this money yourself? Why, that's as much as I made in tips today." Maybe Aunt Helga would tell my father I was helping the family and next time he came to visit we would go for one of our walks, like at the white house.... I veered into the casino. An Oriental man in a loose shirt printed with red seagulls and yellow palm trees stood near the entrance, looking lost. "Paper, sir?" I asked, lowering my eyes. The little man knelt down, making himself shorter than me. "How old are you, little one?" He had a soft, gently-accented voice. "I'm seven. Would you like to buy a paper, sir?" "I'll buy a paper from you, little one, if you will do me a favor." "All right." "Will you take a picture of me beside this bear?" He pointed at the twelve-foot glass-encased stuffed polar bear, the casino's trademark. He held a large, fancy camera out to me. "Yes, sir. I'll be glad to. Which button do I push?" "This is the one." He knelt beside the huge bear, as though trying to emphasize his smallness. I wondered why he had no one to take the picture - a mother or brother or sister or wife. I clicked the camera. Then he had me take another shot of him with the singing show-girls in the background. He gave me a ten-dollar bill, but refused the paper. "I do not live here." My mouth fell open. "Can I keep it, sir? I don't have much change." I showed him the quarter. |