on't hurry on my account -- after all,
you'll have thousands of Shabbas dinners with your mother. I'll live forever."

"I said I'll be there."

"And don't wear that costume," she said. She hated the costume. When the
Department of Defense had issued it to him, she'd wanted to know why they were
sending her boy into combat wearing red satin panties.

"I'll change."

"That's a good boy," she said. "I'm making brisket."

#

By the time he touched down on the roof of his building, he knew he'd be late
for dinner. He skimmed down the elevator shaft to the tenth floor and ducked out
to his apartment, only to find the door padlocked. There was a note from the
building super tacked to the peeling green paint. Among other things, it quoted
the codicil from the Tenant Protection Act that allowed the super to padlock the
door and forbade Hershie, on penalty of law, from doing anything about it.

Hershie's super-hearing picked up the sound of a door opening down the hallway.
In a blur, he flew up to the ceiling and hovered there, pressing himself flat on
the acoustic tile. One of his neighbours, that guy with the bohemian attitude
who always seemed to be laughing at poor, nebbishy Hershie Abromowicz, made his
way down the hall. He paused directly below Hershie's still, hovering form,
reading the note on the door while he adjusted the collar of his ski-vest. He
smirked at the note and got in the elevator.

Hershie let himself float to the ground, his cheeks burning.

Damn it, he didn't have _time_ for this. Not for any of it. He considered the
padlock for a moment, then snapped the hasp with his thumb and index finger.
Moving through the apartment with superhuman speed, he changed into a pair of
nice slacks, a cable-knit sweater his mother had given him for his last
birthday, a tweedy jacket and a woolen overcoat. Opening a window, he took
flight.

#

"Thomas, I _really_ can't talk right now," he said. His mother was angrily
drumming her rings on the table's edge. Abruptly, she grabbed the bowl of
cooling soup from his place setting and carried it into the kitchen. She hadn't
done this since he was a kid, but it still inspired the same panicky dread in
him -- if he wasn't going to eat his dinner, she wasn't going to leave it.

"Supe, we _have_ to talk about this. I mean, DefenseFest is only a week away.
We've got things to do!"

"Look, about DefenseFest. . ."

"Yes?" Thomas had a wary note in his voice.

Hershie's m