Published May 17, 2010

Warily, you slink through the bookstore in tears

You are naked between non-fiction and fiction
You hold in your hand Marcel Proust's In the Shadow of Young Girls in Flower

You are standing in the classics aisle with no memory of how you got here. You have a 10-digit number written on the back of your hand, but you cannot make it out. You see two teenage bookstore employees exchanging furtive glances. Their manager follows their gaze to your naked body. Your worst fear is realized.

Seeking privacy, you head to the poetry and philosophy sections. You figure you have a few minutes while the employees decide among themselves who will approach you. It occurs to you that from a distance, if you crouch down slightly so that only your head is visible above the shelves, you may appear clothed. It’s not a great idea, but it’s all you’ve got. You read a page at random from In the Shadow of Young Girls in Flower in an effort to seem nonchalant. You begin turning the pages until you suspect that the manager has alerted the police. You must act quickly.

You decide to: