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“I will ride up in one someday"
“No, northeir sons!” the old manshouted. “It’s the rich who havedreams and rockets!”
The rockets moaning in the black sky would wake Fiorello Bodoni. He would creep out of bed, sure that his sweet wife was dreaming, out into the night air. He'd be rid of the aromas of old food in the modest house by the river for a few seconds. He would let his heart soar alone into space, following the rockets, for a little moment of silence.
“Old man, I’ve saved three thousand dollars. Ittook me six years to save it. For mybusiness, to invest in machinery. But everynight for a month now I’ve been awake. I hearthe rockets. Ithink. And tonight I’ve made up my mind. Oneof us will fly to Mars!”
“Idiot,” snapped Bramante. “How will youchoose? Who will go? If you go, your wife willhate you, foryou will be just a bit nearer God"
An old guy sat on a milk crate beside the peaceful river, watching the rockets through the dark silence.
“No, no!”
Fiorello and the old man chatting.
Fiorello is telling the old man someone is going to mars.
Old man is questioning Fiorello.
“Suppose your wife went? Howwould you feel, knowing she hadseenand you had not? She wouldbecome holy. You would think ofthrowing her in the river. No, Bodoni,buy a new wrecking machine, which you need, and pull yourdreams apart with it, and smashthem to pieces.”
The old guy fell silent, staring at the water, where pictures of rockets had been drowned.

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