They say that if you ever encounter a bear in New York, you should read it a story and eventually it
will grow bored and tumble back to its grotto in Tourist Section #3 and I never knew whether to feel insulted or relieved by that, but maybe its not the story that bores him, maybe its the startling
September air making circles in the dirt around his paws, maybe it's the tourists, ad-infinitum; the infectious yawn of mother bear and father bear, assigned to him by the head zookeeper, John and
you just happened to be standing there at that exact moment, drooling peanuts and stories from your mouth.