My favorite local book store made the painful decision to close one of its locations.
It wasn’t a location I visited often because the reason they’re closing is the same reason I didn’t go there much.
You could turn in, but not out easily.
You cannot cross the street and drive straight to their lot, you have to turn right then cross three lanes of insane traffic.
I get a literary thrill from cozying up with a great read but I’m not risking my life for written adventures.
And I know I could save money and pick up some great reads by patronizing the sale.
But I’m not doing it. Call me foolish. Don’t care.
The ones combing through the deals are the same who’ve never popped in on a winter’s night, to peruse and ponder and delight in a beautiful brick-and-mortar store. They’re like long-lost relatives picking through an estate sale, and I just don’t want to be part of it.
I’ll say good-bye from here.
“There is no real ending. It’s just the place where you stop the story.” ― Frank Herbert