My library card expired and to get it out of hock I had to pay my $3.50 fine that I incurred last time I checked out a book. Theoretically libraries are free. In practice, they never are.
But I really wanted to check out The Wait by Frank Turner Hollon because the first graph hooked me.
My father almost never got drunk. When he did, it was usually a happy, goofy drunk. But one night when I was nine years old, after a Christmas party, for reasons still unknown, he told me the story of my conception. This is how I remember it.
While standing in line I realized, sadly, that the book was not going to be as good as the first paragraph. But I was already in line. So I paid the fine and endured the indignity of settling my $3.50 debt with a credit card. Charging less than $10 always makes me feel poor. I’m convinced the cashier, or in this case, wannabe librarian, is thinking to herself, “This girl doesn’t have three dollars and fifty cents on her? She probably eats cat food.”
Oh, the injustice of not carrying cash. Perhaps this was the price for breaking my moratorium.