Whitestripe

Prologue

In an apartment building somewhere in New York City, a mother is reading the Three Little Pigs to her son. “Little pig little pig! Let me in!” the mother said in a deep gruff voice. “Not by the hair of our chinny chin chin!” the boy replied, giggling. “Then I’ll huff! And I’ll Puff! And I’ll blow your house in!” she replied in a deep gruff voice again. The boy continued giggling. “So, the wolf huffed and puffed, and he puffed, and he huffed, and he puffed until he couldn’t huff or puff anymore.” She said in her regular voice, turning the page. “But this was too much. The wolf danced about with rage and swore he would come down the chimney and eat up the little pigs for his supper. But while he was climbing onto the roof, the little pigs made a blazing fire and put on a big pot full of water to boil. Then, just as the wolf was coming down the chimney, the little piggies pulled off the lid, and plop! In fell the wolf into the scalding water. So, the little piggy’s put on the cover again, boiled the wolf up, and the three little pigs ate him for supper." She finished the book, closing it and looking over at her son. He huddled under the covers. “Mommy?” he squeaked. “Yes honey?” she replied. “Do big bad wolves like that really exist?” he asked. “No honey, it's just a story, it’s make pretend. Even if they did, your daddy would take care of them for you!” she smiled.

A young woman sat leaning against the building, listening to the story and the conversation between the mother and child.