Overpriced cubs sit in a basket. Matching black stripes frame their faces. Fifty golden eyes watch the shoppers thumb through discounted sloths. Overpriced pups sit above overpriced fawns. You promised your baby a present. You check a price tag. A tiger roars, or maybe a child that believes in himself so deeply he has become a big cat. You hear your baby cry. And the teenage cashiers flirt. And a child ask for an orangutan. And an old man complain about the heat. And a woman’s voice near your ear as she asks you where to find a hairband. She’s hot, she says. Fifty golden eyes stare at you now. She smiles. Twenty-eighteen is expensive. Her face turns hostile. What do tigers eat? The woman yells, “Did you hear me!” At the zoo, tigers eat ground meat. In the wild, tigers hunt calves. Her hand is on her open mouth. You abandon the cubs to find your baby in the shade with his father. And scan a crowd of bodies to find the woman you only saw in your periphery. A danger. You crouch, eyes wide, your baby behind your back, and snarl your teeth believing you can protect him.