A small round and golden gem lay on the table between them. The mosaicist was explaining that this was the proposed tessala for the Institute of Innocence which had come up for redecoration in the lottery. The little angel across the table from him, once a boxmaker and clandestine artist, looked with amusement at the tile. This is god, he thought. That’s what’s going on here. The mosacist could read his thoughts and asked, This is god? A golden gem? The boy looked up from the stone into the man’s eyes. No, you are. Let’s not beat about the bush. That’s what’s been happening to me, isn’t it? You’re god in heaven and we’re in it. The mosaicist laughed and took the boy’s hand. Would that I were, my dear, he cried. Would that I were. Mmmm, mused the boy, unconvinced. You’re god. I tell you I’m not. Think you would admit it if you were? I haven’t the faintest idea how to answer that question, my dear. Well if you’re not him then you’re something like it. And as if to prove it the door opens and some more boys come in. Animals are beating the shit out of everyone! announced the taller of the group. He had an old fashioned car horn protruding from the inside pocket of his jacket. Animals? quizzed the mosaicist. There’s nothing bigger than an organ grinder’s monkey in this city, there can’t be. There is! the boy insisted. Beating the shit out of everyone. Bloody gangs of them. The mosaicist couldn’t be made to believe, so they insisted that they take him to see for himself. As he left the room he turned and smiled. Coming? They seem to think it’s important.