Spent the day in the library, piles of books, my yellow pad, left the friggin’ phone in the car. It was heaven. What I love so much about library books are the cards tucked into the envelope glued in the back with the dates stamped in: a trail of readers. This physical manifestation of a book being shared, of having its own history, traveling through different hands. In a biography of the Wright Brothers, someone wrote in the margin: yes.
Do you have a library memory?
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