In our children’s hands, hats and rivers regain the importance that fiction asks of them. The elements are tamed and sing their own praises and above all they adapt to the true needs of representation. History ends and fiction begins, without any confrontation. Writing does not steal nor does it demand anything, it simply employs that which it finds useful, without establishing a conflict. History knows it is safe from fiction because it doesn’t owe anything to anyone, because it is still yet to happen. And this is why the hat is floating in the river. In any case, floating in Mark Twain’s river is Samuel Beckett’s hat, between them signalling Hat and Mississippi, two parameters in writing, or this is what it seems.