Indeed we played games of childhood renown; we called each other by names, chasing each other about town: there was tag and hide and seek and run; none of this sitting indoors stuff; the games we played made us tough, and certain that our childhood was the final game, one we hushed silently, never to be the same for the generations thereafter; we had our rules and that was one of them: to end the game all together, never allowing our airs to waft or drift towards the younger, but cloistered the scent from every other; over yonder, down time’s line, we see in our peripherals, a spherical notion that what allowed by we should be of a certain excellence in permissible traits; as if cognition the game itself, and its liberation the act of playing pretend: in word, acceleration through time, but lines are for chalk and the rules are for paper; we esteem the source of both the former and the latter and the one in between and all of thereafter.