The etched glass faced sands of blue. Planets floated by, like anemones, their long tendrils drank from a sweet ocean.

A tall black man, carrying a blue bag embossed with white wings lithely walks to a wall, hanging the bag on a hook. He wears forest green chords, a billowy organza shirt, a red and blue vest and a long gray scarf knitted from appaloosa hair. And he’s barefoot.

The man unzips a pocket on the outside of the bag and pulls out two pieces of milky cloth.

He held out the two pieces towards Mew Mew, “Come, your lessons begin.”

Wanting to now why his eyes were warm, she took a step. Mew Mew also wanted to touch what he offered her and what made him smell like the churches she begged in front of .

“My name is Charles. Put these on.”

“But my feet are dirty”, Mew Mew said, “They’re covered in maggot juice.”

“It’s not how dirty your feet are, we only care about how clean your socks are.”

“Where am I?” Mew Mew asked, taking Charles’ hand.

“Welcome to the Sock Skating arena Mew Mew.”