A boy on the tram in hood and baggy pants and headphones. He's going out but he's already there: he sings the headphone song that everyone sings and moves his hands, all hippity-hopitty I figure. Remember, we're in Poland. But like poor kids everywhere, he puts on the blackface and has at it. And hasn't it always been this way? At least since the days of Stefan Petchit, "The Shuffling Serf," and his celebrated Volga melodies, poor kids have got themselves up like interlocutor and imagined themselves admirable and in charge.