Saturday, 25 May 2002 | Store

Hot. The air, the metal strip along my car window that brands my arm with a stripe, the back of my neck underneath a curtain of hair. Running errands, I open my car door and watch the heat scramble over the seat and diffuse into the cooler heat; strange, actually being able to see heat.

Store number 1. Belatedly using up a gift certificate in a store that's going out of business, near-empty shelves scattered with rejects.

Store number 2. The hardest one, looking for new eyeglasses. Seeing my flush face framed and reframed; no, too round, too much like my current pair, too thick, too shiny, too dark. A pair that I want, but why are they purple? Later, trying to find other available colors on an impossible website, almost giving up.

Store number 3. Told that if I spend $30 today, I will get this free average-looking straw bag to take home. Make mental note to spend less than $30.

Store number 4. Visual assault in a building breathing on electricity, rows and rows of TVs all showing the same face silently talking, but with nuances in color, brightness, and contrast. Video cameras that put customers onscreen. If you look at the screen to see yourself, you see yourself looking away. I slip in, buy some blank CDs, and slip out again, smacked again by the heat on my way out the door.

Store number 5. Arrive on my bicycle, carrying stuff I don't need to carry but like to carry anyway. Find a remarkable little bag that attaches to my bike and carries my stuff for me. Remarkable because of its plainness. No label anywhere, no tag or washing instructions, no advertisement. No price tag, even. Perfect.