PollyThere once was a girl with floppy blond hair. Her name was Polly and through the years her artificial cheerfulness touched everyone she came into contact with, from the frozen pizza delivery boy to the smiling mail man. It crept under their skin like some kind of cockroach and settled there, whispering into their brain canals. One of the men thus affected was named Paul who owned a very large doll making company. He had dealt with artificialness his entire life. With a botox injected mother and an always smiling father who every week would come home late, smelling of honey suckle and roses, as if he was bringing summer into the dark and dusty