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lay days, II

A couple weeks ago, yesterday, I made a trip to the bookstore. I had been given some vouchers for my birthday, and I relished the joy of going out to a real shop again, touching real books (in these times, some of you may shudder at this).  I've been reading e-books for a while even before COVID-19 pushed us indoors, because I felt it would be less wasteful to accumulate fewer physical books, some of which I may never read again. My visit to the bookstore was the first in nearly a year. As I drifted through the bookstore, weighing books in my hand, running them over the paper, thumbing the edges and bindings, examining the type, gazing at the covers, my senses became overwhelmed. For a moment, I found it hard to focus on words, plot, topics, etc, and it took a while to focus.  Several titles I wanted were not in stock. I ended up buying a copy of Isabel Wilkerson's Caste, Sigrid Nunez's The Last of Her Kind, Zadie Smith's Intimations, and the latest copy of The Gentlewo

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