 listening library presents. Milo imagines the world by Matt De La Pena, read for you by Dion Graham. What begins as a slow, distant glow grows and grows into a tired train that clatters down the tracks, a cool rush of wind quiets into a screech of steel, and when the doors slide open, Milo slips aboard. The train bucks back into motion as he and his big sister squeeze onto bench seats. The whiskered man beside Milo has a face of concentration, a businessman has a blank, lonely face. The wedding-dressed woman near the far door has a face made out of light, while the dog peeking out of her handbag has no face at all, just a long, lolling tongue. These monthly Sunday subway rides are never-ending, and as usual Milo is a shook-up soda. Excitement stacked on top of worry, on top of confusion, on top of love. To keep himself from bursting, he stutters the faces around him and makes pictures of their lives. At a downtown local stop the whiskered man folds up his crossword and hurries off the train. Milo imagines him trudging through brown mounds of slush. It's a five-flight climb to his cluttered apartment where he's greeted by mulling cats and burrowing rats. Perikets tweet songs of longing as the man sips tepid soup, hunched over a game of solitaire. Late that night the door to the periket cage mysteriously falls open, and the cats gather on the cold sill to watch the birds fly free above the city. Milo tugs his sister's sleeve and holds up his picture. But even when she turns to look he can tell she doesn't see. She's a shook-up soda too. A boy in a suit boards the train with his dad. His hair is a perfect part, and there's not a single scuff on his bright white Nike's. Milo imagines the clop-clop-clop of the horse-drawn carriage that will carry him to his castle. Imagines the clink-clink-clink of the guards slowly lowering the drawbridge. Across the human-made moat the boy is met by a butler, two maids, and a gourmet chef offering crust-free sandwich squares. Sample complete. Ready to continue?