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THE SHOWGIRL If not much is as it seems, and most of the words not mine, why trust the showgirl in the shadows? She claims she's been assigned to show us around. Look to the left, she says. You can barely see the birdcage, but just past it, women cower behind the granary. One door leads out, but they don't take it. Maybe it's too late. Look left, near the cloister, the crow's talons have deciphered the card monitor program: he's uncaged. He hovers, murky, in the intervals between the women, weaves a path through the seminarians. Look to the left, says the showgirl, look to the left, the carnival for the old ones, revolution for the kiddies, the mob ready for lynching, the blonde girl with a talent for homicide. Over right, Gertrude will sell you a beer. On your left, the dispenser of love. --Tad Richards