I went to a book sale in Doylestown. It was heavily advertised, so the atmosphere was tense and the competition dense. The starting pistol was fired and a throng of jackasses pushed forward. Those who were there to make money quickly pushed the elderly and disabled aside. They carry boxes and bags and stacks of Rubbermaid bins. They march toward the textbooks with purpose. Barcode scanners and phones are out, and the grabbing commences. In the first five minutes, some money is made. Then the books that are worth money online are all gone or well hidden. I wander around using a much keener eye. I recognize value where some others haven't noticed it. Those of us who do better have our own little tricks.
I left the sale with a reasonable bounty. Not anything wonderful, but technically worth the drive. Most of the day was still ahead, so I decided to regroup and see what other sources to visit. I ate a Kind bar, because that's always what I do when I get dizzy and I'm trying to do work. I poured about nine gallons of piss in the woods, and I'm saying that in confidence, or at least with confidence, because these words paint a picture of my life.
I stopped at two more sources. One where I was successful in the past, and another as yet untapped. When I headed home, the sun had disappeared, which isn't saying much for December. But on the hour-plus drive in traffic, I listened to The Knife and Clams Casino. The big van with the tall fiberglass hat sailed smoothly along the highway. The ballast in the hold was provided by books, and the adventure had a pleasant ending today.
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