Protection
I’m sitting in Bentley’s with my usual stack of books on the table and a man just came over, tapped one finger on the top of the stack, and said, "Your books can’t protect you." He's a Bentley's regular, Tony, and I know that he meant it jokingly, but he doesn't understand the complexity of my relationship with books. You see, we don't joke like that Tony--especially when I'm still having panic attacks about the library falling down around me. I'm not looking for protection. At this point I'm just hoping that the 88 books I have checked out from the library don't organize themselves and come after me in the night.
