Imagination

I was walking through a beco (narrow alley) the other day. The morning sun was cutting through a small break in the tipsy buildings and the rays illuminated a patch of dirty concrete in front of me. A young boy, about four years old, was laying out newspapers and then flopped down, face first, onto them. His little friend with a headful of black curls asked in a typically girlish tone of condescention: "What are you doing?" With a flip of his head, the tot replied, "I'm on the beach..."

Not sure whether to laugh or cry.

But I loved it.