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"Then what Moneta?" little Elroy, eyes big as saucers, "What'd the bird do?" "Just flew away." These kids didn't clap. They made a tight lip gesture with a neck thrusting bobble that clearly communicated - well done. Hi fives to the teller followed. Great stories included The Right Hand of Robber Lewis, tales of Rip Shin Thicket and Mad Sheep Mountain, learning the Hookworm Hustle, and Money Thinks I'm Dead. It wasn't enough to just spin the tale. The teller had to eyeball each listener in a slithering glide of visual contact. Ahh, the eye contact. Facial speech was akin to sign language. Eye to eye union listener by listener erased reality, the place, the time, the who you are and who I am, the where have I been and the what am I missings. It carved a stage in a communal mind that became singularity and reflected infinities. There were endless uses for rhythm and endurance, but none better or wove a better tapestry of movement and sound than jump rope. The girls had endless curious rhymes for jump rope. "Sam, Sam The dirty man Washed his face in a frying pan, Combed his hair With the back of a chair, And danced with a toothache Through the air." Marcus tried doing the jump rope with the girls, to very serious frowns from the boys whose faces conveyed that this is simply not done. The real reason was obvious after he tried it. It is simply physically impossible for boys. These girls could keep at a