Yesterday I wasted fifty bucks buying a gadget from Radio Shack. What it does is: you can enter numbers up to ten digits each, then with a single bleep push of your little finger, the telephone is dialed for you — with the speed of light. Up to twenty numbers in the computer’s little brain can be coded — access in every emergency. I followed instructions (a quick trip to Fleet-Plummer for two AA Alkaline Batteries) but I only burdened this plastic heart-shaped toy with one telephone number and I stored it in the third drawer of my wardrobe, among my mismatched socks, a bright red velour turtleneck I never had the courage to wear, a rotting rabbit’s foot, several keys for who knows what locks, your number, hidden, blister-packed inside a microchip, ready for the telephone jack, ready for even the most hesitant pressure from my aging fingers, your telephone number — at any time, as fast or faster than the speed of light.