My son only knows the boundary as a game. Our rug is his country. He decides with outstretched arm as a barrier whether he will let me through to the bank. I mention my name, say that the bank is my country where I would like to go. I have a cup of hot tea in one hand and a cookie in the other, so I can’t take my ID card out of my wallet. My son is strict. I have to wait. Fortunately, he turns out to be corrupt through and through. After a bite of my cake, his barrier arm still lets me through.