her lunch-sack was smooshed into something that looked like roadkill -lrb- and covered with more potato chips -rrb- , but trisha did n't even bother looking inside . my walkman , she thought , unaware that she was sobbing as she unzipped the inner pocket . my poor poor walkman . to be separated from even the voices of the human world seemed more than she could bear on top of everything else . trisha reached into the pocket and pulled out a miracle : the walkman ,
intact