Francis, creeping and shrieking, arrived at his house well past midnight and went up to his bed, to suffer alone. As he lay in bed, he dreamt that he was to go out into the world and find, therein, his fortune. There would be no more schooling, only roads that wound themselves around the mountains. Once his legs healed, Francis bid his parents farewell.

"My dear Francis," said his mother, placing him firmly on her lap,"Remember this: avoid condemning others, avoid being boggled at and avoid rather than condemn, not only that, realize that you can learn something even from a complete idiot--and don't stare."
"I hear you," said Francis, distracted by her newly bared bosom.

"And Francis," called his father from the den,"Remember: do whatever you want whenever you want but make sure that there is an exit. If there isn't an exit, then pass it up."
"Will do," said Francis, dutifully, and then gently placed his forehead against his mother's breast. It was here that he had babbled and suckled not so long ago. He wanted to tweak them now to see if they had hardened at all. The breasts were as soft and yellow as an egg yolk.