I have an obsession with books. I think if I’d had more say in the matter that, when I moved two weeks ago, I would have left all my clothes in Florida and packed suitcases full of books.
My empty bookshelves remind me of my empty soul.
But then there’s Green Apple and, if I spend even five more minutes in this shop I’ll be toting around my bodyweight in literature and probably broke.
But really?! Who turns down a shiny, new Franzen for $4?!
I have a book problem. No, I won’t get help.