The presence of the humming machine filled with various kinds of bubbly sugar water and chemicals doesn’t surprise me. I immediately understand the purpose of the stacked cups and plastic lids displayed in half-open cannisters.  It all makes sense.  I tear open the plastic wrapping that sheathes a plastic straw without having to think about it.  My fingertips know how to find the seam along the side in the same way they did when I was a small child. The aisles of brightly colored snack food, the soft classic rock, the containers of putrefying cow milk perspiring in an ice filled tray:  I can navigate all of it with ease.  But the best part is the feeling of walking up to the cash register with enough money in my pocket and smiling behind my thousand yard stare knowing that i get to go home, turn up the A/C, and create other realities.