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course, sir.”
    â€œWell, Jones, we’ve been watching you carefully. I’m afraid you just don’t fit this job anymore. We hate to see you go like this … I mean, we hate to let you go like this, but…”
    â€œLook, sir, I always do my best.”
    â€œWe know you do, Jones, but you’re just not doing a man’s job back there anymore.”
    He let me go. Of course, I knew that I would get my unemployment compensation. But I thought it was small of him to let me go like that…
    I stayed home with Sarah. Which made it worse — she fed me. It got so I couldn’t reach the refrigerator door anymore. And then she put me on a small silver chain.
    Soon I was two feet tall. I had to use a potty chair to shit. But she still let me have my beer, as promised.
    â€œAh, my little pet,” she said, “you’re so small and cute!”
    Even our love life was ended. Everything had melted in proportion. I mounted her but after a while she’d just pick me off and laugh.
    â€œAh, you tried, my little duck!”
    â€œI’m not a duck, I’m a man!”
    â€œOh my little sweet man-y man!”
    She picked me up and kissed me with her red lips …
    Sarah got me down to being 6 inches tall. She carried me to the store in her purse. I could look out at the people through the little air holes she had poked in her purse. I will say one thing for the woman. She still allowed me to have my beer. I drank it by the thimble. A quart would last me a month. In the old days it was gone in 45 minutes. I was resigned. I knew that if she wished to do so she could make me vanish entirely. Better 6 inches than nothing. Even a little life becomes very dear when you near the end of life. So, I amused Sarah. It was all I could do. She made me little clothes and shoes and put me on top of the radio and turned on the music and said, “Dance, little one! Dance, my dunce! Dance, my fool!”
    Well, I couldn’t collect my unemployment compensation so I danced on top of the radio while she clapped her hands and laughed.
    You know, spiders frightened me terribly and flies were the size of giant eagles, and if a cat ever caught me it would torture me like a small mouse. But life was still dear to me. I danced and sang and hung on. No matter how little a man has he will find that he will always settle for less. When I shit on the rug I would get spanked. Sarah put little pieces of paper around and I shit on them. And I ripped off little pieces of that paper to wipe my butt with. It felt like cardboard. I got hemorrhoids. Couldn’t sleep nights. Feelings of inferiority, of being trapped. Paranoia? Anyhow, I felt good when I sang and danced and Sarah let me have my beer. She kept me at an exact six inches for some reason. What the reason was, it was beyond me. As almost everything else was beyond me.
    I made up songs for Sarah, that’s what I called them: Songs for Sarah:
    â€œ o, I’m just a little snot ,
    that’s all right until I get hot ,
    then there’s nothing to stick it in
    except the fucking head of a pin!”
    Sarah would clap her hands and laugh.
    â€œif ya wanna be an admir in the queen’s navy
    just be a clark for the fuckin’ nark ,
    grow 6 inches tall and when the Queen goes to pee
    you can peek up inter drippin’ pussy … ”
    And Sarah would clap her hands and laugh. Well, that was all right. It had to be …
    But one night something very disgusting happened. I was singing and dancing and Sarah was on the bed, naked, clapping her hands, drinking wine and laughing. I was putting on a good show. One of my best. But, as always, the top of the radio got hot and started burning my feet. I couldn’t stand it anymore.
    â€œLook, baby,” I said, “I’ve had it. Take me down. Gimme a beer. No wine. You drink that cheapass wine. Gimme a thimble of that good beer.”
    â€œSure, sweetie,” she said, “you