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Bookseller


by Danny Goodman


He suggests my purchase is a metaphor. His cracked smile reveals years of tobaccoed abuse, and for some reason I find this magnetic. I ask what he means, and he points to the cover. I shake my head. It's only a book, I assure him, just pages. They should add up to something, he says, hold weight. I pay with cash. He hands me the paperback, and I nod. He is right, about the weight.
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