The rain is playing the steel drums on the metal roof of the back porch. In a chair we sit, looking out the window at nothing in particular. Maybe we think of days when we sat in the basement of our house as a youth, listened to music and pretended we were popular. It does not matter anymore. Every river crosses through Dao territory. Some learn and are the better for it. Some do not and swim upstream until they are too exhausted to stay above water.