The Strand Book Store

The Strand Book Store—
12th Street and Broadway—
two floors of books—
street level and basement—
advertised as eight miles of books—
all books sold at a discount—
all subjects covered—
if you like to browse get there early—
avoid the bumping and the excuse me’s from the crowd that will pour into the thin aisles by noon—
smell the dust and sneeze—
I prefer the basement—
the latest reviewer copies are there—
all half price—
stored neatly on the shelves—
alphabetically by author—
I walk down each aisle searching for subjects I enjoy—
music – history—
investing – politics—
general science—
I pull a book off the shelf and read a sentence or two—
it holds me—
a paragraph—
it holds me—
a page—
a chapter—
I’m hooked—
could the budget afford it—
my social security check is coming soon—
will my 401k only be a (k) someday—
I push the book back and continue browsing—
an hour or two hurries by—
I leave Strand’s empty handed—
there’s always the public library—
how come I always forget that—
maybe I like the dust in Strand’s—
—achoo!