I’ve just spent an hour reading in the stairwell where it was sunny and quiet except for the sound of the fountain in the park. I’m reading The Swimming-Pool Library by Alan Hollinghurst. I checked it out from the library, as I have been doing more and more lately. The books have been piling up at home. They’re hardbacks and paperbacks and not all of them are books that I necessarily need to own. Also, it’s expensive to always purchase. Our library recently got a 64-million dollar renovation. I’m putting it to good use.

I’ve been thinking of library books and their curious history.The book I’m reading now is old. Where has it been read before? Who has it spent time with? What bags or purses or nightstands has it occupied? I love that uncertain history. Digital readers can’t muster to touch this.

Somewhere along the way someone took copious, ridiculous pencil notes in this copy of The Swimming-Pool Library. At first I thought the notes would add an element to my reading, as if I were eavesdropping on some class or study group. No. The notes are desperately analytical, but also really just strange inferences about word choice and personal ideas. I can’t help rolling my eyes a bit, smiling and wondering about their author.

Look at what I found at the thrift store the other day. A collection of books who’s author is Charles Bukowski. I’ve heard good reviews about his books. How much are they? 50c each. I paid $4 for all of them. Good deal? Definitely, since a book cost about $15. I can’t wait to start on his Ham On Rye.

Ahhh… The treasures of a thrift store.

What attracts me to a girl is knowledge. I’d love to get into debates over different subjects and to see her stand up for her views. If a girl can show me up or teach me something new, then that is an automatic swoon. Looks fade, but intelligence is forever. I love it when a girl can hold a conversation with me and converse about other things besides pop culture.