What is that?

Every day Otto asks me a thousand times what things are. He knows now that everything has a name, but not that the names stay the same. He points at an object several times with the same quizzical/hopeful expression each time. In order to be the patient parent I pretend to be, I imagine my…

ung, ine

  I am trying to imagine all the things that this hand-drawn sign might once have said, as well as the reason that two small torn pieces of it ended up on the ground in a back alley in Pittsburgh.