A Different Reality
Irenya O’Neil stared at the bin of lime and orange shoes and knew she had gone around in a circle. Music blared from the doorway, as it did from every shop in the complex. The noise steam-rollered her thinking. A youth brushed by so close that a button on his unfastened vest caught in a small loop of ribbon on her sleeve. His chest was naked under the shiny vest and his denim shorts barely covered the essentials. He muttered something and freed his button. She opened her mouth to ask about telephones but he was on his way, and without a glance at her. For the last twelve months, she had lived in a place where people looked at each other and where amplified sound didn’t exist. She edged into the space between shoe bin and shop window, covered her ears, and waited for he
