Thomas E. Kennedy panics after losing track of a treasured book:

…you wonder with alarm whether you somehow inadvertently mixed the glossary into the books in one of the bags. You are certain you have not, but you know that when the three large plastic sacks are moved up to the attic they will join the many piles of sacks and cartons in that dim, chill, musty-smelling room, will disappear among them, and, if you do not find the glossary elsewhere, the thought will haunt you that it is in the attic.

You step across the Persian carpet and into the kitchen and eye the sacks, feeling as though you are about to perform a hated, pointless exercise…You stare with animosity at the sacks, which are made of heavy-duty translucent plastic the color of the hateful moths that destroyed your expensive cashmere sweater and that you hung traps for in your closet.

You hate what you have become, hate the fact that you are incapable of throwing out books—just throwing them out, getting rid of them, giving them to the Goodwill.

You become aware that you are cursing aloud to these three ugly, plastic, moth-colored sacks.

The final denouement* can be found here

(*I always loved that word…)

strand_stephennessen_wnycThe Bookstore
photo © Stephen Nessen

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