Seattle's oldest and finest booksellers last weekend. The roommates and I made two treks down, once to enjoy the free food and block party celebration and again a few days later to actually peruse the stacks. The place smelled of rich, chocolaty cedar and fresh, untouched pages. It was deliciously intoxicating, and it's safe to say I got drunk off the smells. A half hour later, the stack of books I was carrying had reached the tip of my nose.
Call it springtime ambition - but more like blind ambition. I don't have the time to immerse myself in all these books - especially those plenteous works by Sontag and Wallace. Neither do I really have the money to spend. But I just couldn't say no to their firm, smooth covers, their inky pages with fibers like fine-grained sand. And now, I'm knee-deep in the sand, five of them to be exact.
Well, I tell myself, there's no hurry. They're not going anywhere now.