I used to know of four used-book stores around here.
One’s having a going-out-of-business-sale now.
One closed a few years back. So only two remain.
The only customers I’ve seen buying used books
are old women who endlessly read romance books.
They buy those books by the handful. Like a handful.
I love books. It’s sad seeing what books have become.
Most people I know who read books now hold a book
like a totem—they’re not readers, they want the book
to make them readers. They read like an audience
watches a stage magician wave a magic wand.
Those old women read like a coven’s apprentice
watches a male witch invoke a real magic wand.
This doesn’t make me as sad as I thought it would.
When books disappear they can’t be used as totems.
What a nightmare. Witches, totems and magic wands.
I was talking to the manager of a store.
A young woman was standing at an ATM.
“Your sound system’s playing disco music,” I said.
The manager started to speak. The young woman
turned away from the ATM laughing so hard
she steadied herself with a hand against my chest.
When she caught her breath, she said, “This music’s so lame.”
The manager, frowning, stared at the young woman.
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Book of Shadows at Wikipedia
*
Cockroaches From Space Redux
The Empire Of Kimberly’s Innocence
Poor Lucy Falling To Pieces
An Embrace On The Past
There’s A Hand Raising A Phone
Being A Writer In Drew’s World
Naming Things
Ancient Cities Of The Moon
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