after the first Saturday class of my entire life (grammar class.
Everybody seemed dumb.) i went to LB to look at some old issues
of Vogue in the The Practical Shop. I was disappointed because they
weren't as beautiful as i thought and i discovered my pet peeve for
awfully handled books, especially magazines, since they are bigger.
My next stop was another bookstore, where the two keepers were
just frolicking giddily in an obscured corner. I was tempted to run
away with a book or two so the storegirl and boy doing blowjobs
via telepathy would learn a lesson, but there was no book good
enough for such a sin, except Stephenie Meyer's The Host. That's a
nice one, honestly.
And then next stop was another bookstore (deja vu for real) where i
found a watercolour pad twice as large as my previous one. It was
expensive and i didn't buy it for that reason. Logic.
I was really tired.