A 95-cent book for $1.50

Flightly and frivolous. Yes, that's what I feel like sometimes when I'm writing to you. And it suits my mood. I derive great joy from making fun of myself sometimes.

The story tonight is simple: I bought a book from a second-hand bookstore a few weeks ago. The exact number of weeks doesn't matter. You know how you can always tell the original price of the book because it's printed on the back cover? Well, the book was originally 95 cents. Guess how much I paid for it? *drum roll* $1.50. Yes, I paid $1.50 for a 95-cent book. Why did I do that? To amuse myself.

There was a second reason. I found a poem that I read a while ago. While I didn't like the poem very much, it somehow appealed to me that night. I could have found it online and printed it out I guess, for free. Frankly, I think I just wanted to buy a 95-cent second-hand book for $1.50.

How many times can I repeat myself tonight? It's rather amusing. "A 95-cent book for $1.50!" I hope you're not annoyed. The lady who was manning the counter certainly looked annoyed. I didn't say a word to her, but she didn't see that the 95-cent book was going for $1.50. Oh, the little details you miss when you're not paying attention.

Now what am I trying to say?

"Cats yawn because they realize that there is nothing better to do." (The Scripture of Golden Eternity, Jack Kerouac). That's not my favorite line from that book. But it'll suffice.