The best thing, though, in that museum was that
everything always stayed right where it was.
Nobody'd move. You could go there a hundred thousand times,
and that Eskimo wouldstill be just finished catching those two fish,
the birds would still be on their way south, the deers would still be drinking out of that water hole,
with their pretty antlers and theirpretty, skinny legs, and that squaw
with the naked bosom would still be weaving thatsame blanket. Nobody'd be different.
The only thing that would be different would be you. Not that you'd be so much older or anything.
It wouldn't be that, exactly. You'd just be different, that's all.
[...]
Certain things they should stay the way they are.
You ought to be able to stick them in one ofthose big glass cases and just leave them alone.
I know that's impossible, but it's too bad anyway.
Anyway, I kept thinking about all that while I walked.
