Natasha has answered the door. She comes to me with a small boy, who is selling mylar balloons of a variety of designs, red, shaped like hearts and stars. He is so young that he can barely talk intelligibly, and he is not crying, but sad. His name is Peter. It seems his issue is that my dog Timmy, who was running loose outside, jumped up on him and has gotten his tan overalls all dirty. I ponder what to do about this, as it seems absurd to pay the kid off for the incident. He suggests that I buy a balloon, which are $6. Doing the math, I figure that if I buy a balloon, at least I get something for my money, and he'll go away happy. Though I have no use for a balloon, I ask Natasha to pick her favorite, and I buy it.

I ask Peter where he lives, and he says "Westwood One", and gives me the address. I say "wow, then you must know my friend Peter Wolf!", who apparently lives in Westwood Two. The child indicates so. He leaves, and I attempt to call his parents, but nobody answers, although I can hear sounds inside the house, so I give up.