I was in Barnes and Noble the other day looking for something new to read. Bookstores are so desperate these days that they are now begging for money. I bought a cup of black coffee and the barista tried hard to up-sell me on a larger size, a shot of flavor, a bowl of soup. A bowl of soup? No, I’ll just have the coffee that I ordered about an hour ago. She finally relented and handed me my receipt that also included a coupon for cookies.
I spent lots of time in bookstores in my youth. Borders afforded me a sense of freedom. I could ride my bike there, smoke cigarettes by the bucketload on the patio outside its cafe and thumb through photography books that could, by chance, contain a nude (one exposed breast constitute art; two, pornography). I should have used my time there to expand my knowledge and vocabulary, but instead I searched the racks of CDs for music I might like. In those days you had to buy a CD on speck. After plunking down $25, you might discover the album was terrible besides the one or two songs you bought it for in the first place. I once flung a Culture Club CD out the window of my car because I found the songs other than “I’ll Tumble 4 Ya” to be so reprehensible. It pains me today to admit I even liked THAT song. Continue reading “Hunting and Pecking”