I Am the Cheese

by Robert Cormier

I walk my bike to the door of Howard Johnson’s. When I was just a little kid, I called it “Orange Johnson” and we were driving along in the car, my mother and father and me, I was between them in the front seat, and when I said “Orange Johnson” the first time they laughed and laughed and I felt safe and secure and surrounded by love. And sometimes in the night even now I murmur “Orange Johnson” in the dark and feel good again,

Why do the ecologists think we are running out of space on this planet? I’ve seen so many unoccupied and uninhabited places today that I’m starting to feel lonesome for stores and houses and sidewalks and traffic jams.