Esther watched the Olympics coverage on Good Morning America — fascinated,
not wanting to move. The Games seemed so remote and
no part of her; it was a play apart and
separate, wondrous to watch, not without its strange pleasure. That’s
all for me, she thought, that’s all taking place just
for me, by God. If she wished, she could linger
here, in comfort, and follow highlights from the men’s marathon
on through its swift phases, down alleys across streets, over
empty running avenues, past throngs of spectators, crossing lots and
playgrounds, with pauses here or there for the necessary commercials.
Paraphrases from the novel Fahrenheit 451 by Ray Bradbury.