into any trouble that might end up with a
policeman asking to see my license, which always seemed to be the
first thing they did on television, when they talked to anybody who
was driving a car. I got back in the car and wriggled my way out of
the hole between the other cars, and tried to think what to do. Then I
remembered seeing a sign that said "Free Parking" somewhere, not too
far away, and went back the way I'd come.

There was a sort of park, with a fountain spraying water all over the
grass, and a big building opposite, and the white lines here were much
more sensible. They were painted in diagonal strips, so you could get
in and out quite easily, without all that backing and twisting and
turning. I left the car there, and remembered to take the keys with
me, and started walking back to the drugstore.

* * * * *

That was when it hit me.

Up to then, beginning I guess when I drove that little stretch coming
into Manitou, with the houses on the hills, and the children and yards
and dogs and chickens, I'd begun to feel almost as if I belonged here.
The people seemed so _much_ like me--as long as I wasn't right up
against them. From a little distance, you'd think there was no
difference at all. Then, I guess, when I was close enough to notice,
driving through town, I'd been too much preoccupied with the car. It
didn't really get to me till I got out and started walking.

They were all so _big_....

They were big, and their faces and noses and even the pores of their
skin were too big. And their voices were too loud. And they _smelled_.

I didn't notice that last much till I got into the drugstore. Then I
thought I was going to suffocate, and I had a kind of squeezing
upside-down feeling in my stomach and diaphragm and throat, which I
didn't realize till later was what they meant by "being sick." I stood
over the directory rack, pretending to read, but really just
struggling with my insides, and a man came along and shouted in my ear
something that sounded like, "Vvvm trubbb lll-lll-lll ay-dee?" (I
didn't get that sorted out for hours afterwards, but I don't think
I'll ever forget just the way it sounded at the time. Of course, he
meant, "Having trouble, little lady?") But all I knew at the time was
he was too big and smelled of all kinds of things that were unfamiliar
and slightly sickening. I couldn't answer him. All I could do was turn
away so as not to breathe him, and try t