Scenes from a bookstore

It appears as if Blogger's finally gotten its head out of its ass, so on with the posting.

I went out today to look for a job but somehow ended up in a used bookstore on the other side of town. I tried to just drive on past but they pulled me in with their used-books tractor beam. I suppose it was God's way of telling me it was okay to blow off looking for a job because once I got in there, I found this for super-cheap. I had to refrain from doing a little dance right there in the store.

Now, I know what you're going to say. You shouldn't buy books from a used bookstore because the author doesn't make any money off them. I know, you're absolutely right, and as a writer, I should understand that better than most people. I can't help it though. See, I'm basically a bookstore junkie. Some people like heroin, I like books, the cheaper the better.

I can go to any city in America and the first thing I'll want to do is find a bookstore. I prefer secondhand or indie places to the big chains. Despite what I've read about the death of independent bookstores, they're still my first choice when it comes to buying books. Every time I walk into a Barnes & Noble, I feel like a little piece of my soul has shriveled up and died. The salespeople always seem to look at you funny, like you're not supposed to touch the books or something. And God forbid, you don't buy a mocha-choco-frappe-latte-cino or whatever the hell it is they sell.

I like used bookstores because you never know what you're going to find. My favorite bookstore is in the town I grew up in. It's actually inside an old house that someone bought and then filled up with books. Every room in the house, including the hallways and the basement, is lined with rows and rows of books. Every room has its own theme: romance, western, classics, science fiction, etc. I could spend hours in this place and never get bored. I've decided that if I ever win the lottery, I'm going to offer the man who owns it whatever he wants for it. Then I'm going to run around the store, screaming mine! mine! mine!

In addition to being a bookstore junkie, I'm also a book hoarder. I can't buy just one book, I have to buy three or five or twelve. I think the most I ever bought in one day was something like 27, from three or four different places. I've spent more money on books in the last year than I have clothes. There are books in every room of my house, on shelves, on the floor, in boxes. My reading list is so backlogged we're talking years to get through them all. I'm going to be one of those people you read about on News of the Weird, who ends up being crushed to death by a pile of falling books. They'll find me, weeks later, curled up in the fetal position, clutching a copy of Fight Club. Not a bad way to go, come to think of it.

I plan to be a bookstore junkie and book addict until they develop a twelve-step program or my eyes shrivel up and fall out, whichever comes first. In the meantime, if anyone wants to borrow a book, just let me know. You might just save a life.