There was something so soothing about being surrounded by books. As a kid I would run down the aisles, excitement pulsing through me. My fingers would fly over the colorful spines, trembling with anticipation. I’d pick up book after book, carefully reading the synopsis. And when I’d finally chosen which ones to bring home, I’d be giddy, knowing that my next adventure was right around the corner. At least that’s how it went when Mom took me. When Ray took me, I’d have to be fast. Many times I’d grab books off the shelf without even reading the back. He had no patience, and he’d loom over me, tapping his foot repeatedly on the floor while staring pointedly at the watch wrapped around his wrist. As an adult I didn’t spend nearly enough time in the bookstore. Mostly because I couldn’t afford to. Certainly not now that I wasn’t working. Then again, I didn’t make much money working part time at the record store either. I had recently sold two freelance pieces to online magazines, along with a book review, and I’d received the money from those sales this week.
