(Perhaps we will not see the cashier's mouth stretch into a too-wide smile; will not see you tugging at the door, pounding on its glass; will not watch you exhaust yourself trying to break it. Perhaps we will not peer more closely at lines of tiny print as your screams fade.)

(The bell may yet ring again for you as you run, its tinkling in your ears a reminder urging you faster. There may yet be a shiver down your spine, and when you look back there may be only empty space where once was a glass door and a meadow-green sign.)

(You may find your way home. Will it be only minutes since you left, or years since you first stepped into the shop?)

If you run home, remember you will always ache for the paradise that might have been.

But you will be free.