the_last_one raze we saw a hooded figure on a park bench. he laughed when we walked past him. i figured he got an amusing text and was one of the few people in this city still capable of expressing unguarded emotion in a public place. "well, go on and ignore me then!" he said. we turned around. it was sybren. "i didn't recognize you with the hood on," i said. he had something beside him. it was a monkey about the size of an open fist. "this is my favourite and last one," he said. "it's beautiful," i told him. "i really loved this one. i was saving it for last." there was something sad around the edges of his smile. "are you sure you want to give us your favourite one?" i asked. "yeah. i'm completely monkey-free now. good luck naming this one. it kind of looks like the faun, doesn't it? maybe you could call it little fauny." "i was just wearing your shirt yesterday, you know. it fits like a glove." seven squirrels gathered around us while we talked. i tossed them walnuts, pecans, and hazelnuts. "they're all over my yard now," sybren said. "i walk through the park and pick up acorns and hickory nuts. then i bring them home for them to have. they love those things." "it's kind of you to do that for them," i said. "i know they appreciate it. look at this." a tiny grey squirrel came right up to my feet. i'd seen her a few times before. but she'd never been this bold. i call her lil' bit. she reminds me a lot of little_guy. her heart is already so much bigger than her body. i hope she makes it. a black squirrel named chase ate a walnut a whisper away from the bench's right leg. sybren looked at me and smirked. "get him to say something." before i could ask my furry friend to speak, chase started grumbling. we laughed. this is sybren's thirty-fifth and final gift, just over a year after this all began: three pounds of metamorphic rock shaped into a simian sophist. seven soft circular feet keep the platform he's resting on from skidding. he sits with his hands on his knees. his toes tease the lip of an empty basin. and i know in my soul it's a wishing well in its purest form. so i'll fill it up. 221030 what's it to you? who go blather from