"Soft Drink Stand"
The child ahead of him received its candy bar and raced off. Ragle laid down his fifty-cent piece on the counter. "Got any beer?" he said. His voice sounded funny. Thin and remote. The counter man in white apron and cap stared at him, stared and did not move. Nothing happened. No sound, anywhere. Kids, cars, the wind; it all shut off. The fifty-cent piece fell away, down through the wood, sinking. It vanished. I’m dying, Ragle thought. Or something. Fright seized him. He tried to speak, but his lips did not move for him. Caught up in the silence. Not again, he thought. Not again! It’s happening to me again. The soft-drink stand fell into bits. Molecules. He saw the molecules, colorless, without qualities, that made it up. Then he saw through, into the space beyond it, he saw the hill behind, the trees, the sky. He saw the soft-drink stand go out of existence, along with the counter man, the cash register, the big dispenser of orange drink, the taps for Coke and root beer, the...