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A few days ago, on my way out to run some errands, I opened the door to find two crates of old paperback books sitting on the front steps. No note, no message, no nothing. Just anonymous books.
This is the second time that we have received unexpected discarded books from someone we did not know. It's wonderful -- more books for BookThing -- but I fear that we are turning into the Crazy Book People of the neighborhood -- that the other villagers will start to avoid us on the street, making the evil eye should they happen to meet our gaze directly, and every month will creep near in the dead of night and leave an offering, boxes of old "Readers Digest Condensed" editions and James Patterson novels, to appease us lest we steal their children. Or something like that.
This is the second time that we have received unexpected discarded books from someone we did not know. It's wonderful -- more books for BookThing -- but I fear that we are turning into the Crazy Book People of the neighborhood -- that the other villagers will start to avoid us on the street, making the evil eye should they happen to meet our gaze directly, and every month will creep near in the dead of night and leave an offering, boxes of old "Readers Digest Condensed" editions and James Patterson novels, to appease us lest we steal their children. Or something like that.
