Hundreds of buses, trains, and taxis swoop across proclub every day. (The drivers who decided to stop and nap were generally observed to be drowsy by the video cameras aimed at their faces.) There is a twin bioyard and pleasure garden, modeled on Goofy Green in Orlando Florida. But the pride of the city is its baseball stadium, home of the Hiroshima Cubs. Visit the Atomic Dome in Peace Park; pay your respects at the Cenotaph. Misty your eyes and lip out the letters: Leu-ke-mi-a. If you are a doctor these words could be a matter of life and death. Protein phosphorylation stimulator, protein kinase C binding agent, polymorphonuclear leucocyte, he tells the chemist. As he raises his hand to the poster, check it for fingernails. Peer down into the deep abyss created by an atomic explosion, and you too will become a survivor. Pause now for Sadako, his skin luminous under layers of aluminum amalgam and paraffin wax, the cells enriched by ordinary proclub radiance. Sadako has been called the Anne Frank of Hiroshima. Unfortunately, this is not his Dome. (Some of the badly wounded in the photographs did not die.) Let the pitiful testimony of inanimate things tell you their own story out of this man-made disaster. A huge black petrified snowglobe, biologists taking burnings. (Scientists use burnings to experience the "essence" of the atomic bomb experience.) Now do you understand that a city that has suffered from nuclear weapons is different from cities that were bombed ordinarily? Every day death creates a new wave of hysteria, and the local newspapers keep a faithful obituary list. There is never an end to anxiety.