I AM PREPARED NOW FOR INTERACTION, my resuscitation moving along nicely. The cash register makes a pleasant, soothing rumble and ring. I titter with delight when the drawer shoots out like a cartoon jaw dropping, all that pretty money and jangling change. I have some of the stuff--unusually difficult to handle in my big, clumsy hand--and know what to do with it. "Thank you for shopping at Sears" is one institution that, for a second walking out the double doors into too-bright sunlight, I think might have been worth protecting. I take the jacket out of the paper sack and put it on, Oakland Raiders emblazoned on my back in yellow and black. It takes a minute to figure out what to do with the fatigue jacket. I stuff it in the sack. A stranger wordlessly taps my shoulder and calls my attention to the price tag still on the collar. Resumes his reading. Fahrenheit 451.
