I went to Half-Price Books today. I love that store. I could spend hours in that store. I probably have spent hours in that store. I got four books for $16. If I'd gone to Barnes & Noble, or Borders, I could have gotten, let's see, um, ONE book for $16. And three of the books were only $3 each! Even if they suck, who cares?
My parents were making fun of me because one of the books is about Lucy, "the oldest, best-preserved skeleton of any erect-walking human ancestor ever found." I don't care, though. I can't wait to read it, and it has pictures. Color pictures.
That store is perfect. The concept is brilliant, because you hook people in by offering to buy their books and then they decide to look around and they find a book about Lucy and spend all the money they just got.
That's what I do anyway. When I can manage to part with my books, that is. My books are like my babies. Once the roof of our house leaked and it ruined a whole bunch of stuff, but I was only worried about the books in my room that had been ruined. It only amounted to about $30 worth of books, but it was a very trying part of my life.
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