I had been nipping in to Easons, the bookshop I’d lurked around on my book day… oh, you know… just about every day. It’s my northside bookshop, they get a lot of my business, they stock stationery and art supplies and Yankee Candles and horse stickers — one stop shopping, as you can see — and I really wanted to see the book there. It’s ‘my’ bookshop, I’d queued at midnight for two Harry Potters, there, and it was as important to me to see it there as it was to find it first in Hodges & Figgis [my southside bookshop.]

I’d go in and head for Cs, and I was never there. Until last Saturday.

There! And a whole pile of Drama Queens on a table, which I shifted into better position. [I returned two days later, and they had been shifted back. Oops.]

I really wanted to see a stranger pick up the book, read the back, buy it. I was going to miss my bus if I didn’t get a move on. When one of the desk employees came round for the third time to fluff up a shelf, I realised that they probably thought I was going to steal.

I left, legged it for the bus for the yard, and left my book to its destiny.

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