By now you all know how much I love books. According to my mom, my first word was "book." I don't really consider myself much of a criminal, but I'd probably steal books. And so on.
The problem is, since I'm packing all my shit, I can't buy more books, at least not for now. That would just be something else to pack. I can't tell you how much this hurts me. Whenever I pass a bookstore I feel like I'm dying. I feel like I've been mortally wounded.
But last week I couldn't *not* buy Stephen King's new book. And I tried desperately to not buy any other books when I made the trek to Anderson's in Naperville to do so. But you know me. And you can probably guess that I failed. You'd be right.
I couldn't stop myself! I had to do it! Damn you all!
And damn me, too. And you know that I had to get a few books at Printers Row, too, so . . .
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