The boy ducks under the rope and runs to the far wall and spreads his arms wide and turns his head to the left and presses his whole body against the bones. The mother stares at her smartphone, pretends she doesn't notice. Two visitors glower at her: One clears his throat and mumbles, "World's gone to hell in a handbasket," while other takes a pic of the boy splayed against the bone wall, then walks to the docent and shows her the photo on the smartphone. The docent long-strides into the bone chapel and ducks under the rope and walks up to the boy and grabs him by his shirt collar and spins him around. "Do you know where these bones come from?" she asks, shaking him by the arms. "Do you? They're the bones of bad children like you, and some of them are broken."