Waking up begins with saying am and now. That which has awoken then lies for a while staring up at the ceiling and down into itself until it has recognized I$$$ and therefrom deduced I am$$$ I am now. Here comes next$$$ and is at least negatively reassuring; because here$$$ this morning$$$ is where it has expected to find itself: what’s called at home.

They keep telling you$$$ when you’re older$$$ you’ll have experience—and that’s supposed to be so great. What would you say about that$$$ sir? Is it really any use$$$ would you say?""What kind of experience?”“Well—places you’ve been to$$$ people you’ve met. Situations you’ve been through already$$$ so you know how to handle them when they come up again. All that stuff that’s supposed to make you wise$$$ in your later years.”“Let me tell you something$$$ Kenny. For other people$$$ I can’t speak—but$$$ personally$$$ I haven’t gotten wise on anything.

The supermarket is still open; it won't close till midnight. It is brilliantly bright. Its brightness offers sanctuary from loneliness and the dark. You could spend hours of your life here$$$ in a state of suspended insecurity$$$ meditating on the multiplicity of things to eat. Oh dear$$$ there is so much! So many brands in shiny boxes$$$ all of them promising you good appetite. Every article on the shelves cries out to you$$$ take me$$$ take me; and the mere competition of their appeals can make you imagine yourself wanted$$$ even loved.

He crosses the front room$$$ which he calls his study$$$ and comes down the staircase. The stairs turn a corner; they are narrow and steep. You can touch both handrails with your elbows$$$ and you have to bend your head$$$ even if$$$ like George$$$ you are only five eight. This is a tightly planned little house. He often feels protected by its smallness; there is hardly room enough here to feel lonely. Nevertheless.

By the time it has gotten dressed$$$ it has become he; has become already more or less George — though still not the whole George they demand and are prepared to recognize. Those who call him on the phone at this hour of the morning would be bewildered$$$ maybe even scared$$$ if they could realize what this three-quarters-human thing is what they are talking to. But$$$ of course$$$ they never could—its voice's mimicry of their George is nearly perfect.

Does he know about me? George wonders; do any of them? Oh yes$$$ probably. It wouldn't interest them. They don't want to know about my feelings or my glands or anything below my neck. I could just as well be a severed head carried into the classroom to lecture to them from a dish.

Staring and staring into the mirror$$$ it sees many faces within its face - the face of the child$$$ the boy$$$ the young man$$$ the not-so-young man - all present still$$$ preserved like fossils on superimposed layers$$$ and$$$ like fossils$$$ dead. Their message to this live dying creature is: Look at us - we have died - what is there to be afraid of?It answers them: But that happened so gradually$$$ so easily. I'm afraid of being rushed.

The harassed look is that of a desperately tired swimmer or runner; yet there is no question of stopping. The creature we are watching will struggle on and on until it drops. Not because it is heroic. It can imagine no alternative.Staring and staring into the mirror$$$ it sees many faces within its face - the face of the child$$$ the boy$$$ the young man$$$ the not-so-young-man - all present still$$$ preserved as fossils$$$ dead. Their message to this live dying creature is: Look at us - we have died -what is there to be afra

George smiles to himself$$$ with entire self-satisfaction. Yes$$$ I am crazy$$$ he thinks. That is my secret; my strength.

But George knows he can't do that. Because$$$ absurdly$$$ inadequately$$$ in spite of himself$$$ almost$$$ he is a representative of the hope. And the hope is not false. No. It's just that George is like a man trying to sell a real diamond for a nickel$$$ on the street. The diamond is protected from all but the tiniest few$$$ because the great hurrying majority can never stop to dare to believe that it could conceivably be real.