Bombarding Bookstores

Brooklyn was hot and sticky. After days of rain, the sun had returned with a vengeance, beating down on the young residents darting between cafes and boiling the trash-bags tucked in alleys. I’d been walking for miles. Sweat had ceased beading on my hairline and begun dampening the back of my neck. My shoulder sopped beneath the strap of the heavy bag that I carried, laden with books.

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