ABSTRACT
The line outside the ticket counter at Shoreline Amphitheater had barely moved. Nisha felt trapped there. Concerts are less compelling when you are a mother of three teenagers. Her desire to retreat seemed less overwhelming after she had ascertained that there were others around her who were not allowing their age to overrule their persistence. But memory is easy to lose and slow to recover. And so she found herself blinking, stumbling, and eventually blanked out over the fifteenth line of the mantra. By that time, of course, her impatience with herself had grown, far exceeding even its customary low threshold level. The sun was chipping away at her energy and tolerance. She felt hot and cluttered. Suddenly, the scenario around her seemed pitiful. At age fifty, her mother or sister would never have had to stand in a line to buy their tickets or ride a bike to do so.
