Some People Are Bonkers

I was looking at novels at the book grocer in Bourke Street, on the weekend, as Sam got his hair cut. It is kind of nice, some uninterrupted time to check out some new fiction. I love the feel of books, I love the smell of them, I love reading the back and the opening paragraph/s, you know, that moment when you decide if you are attracted to the writing. You just keep reading, you forget to stop.

There were plenty of people in the shop, they were on sale, why wouldn't there be?

There was a young, blond guy on his phone walking aimlessly around the shop talking loudly to somebody, I was just about to ask him to take it outside when he hung up. He was kind of cute, which was beside the point, and he had a deep voice, which was kind of the point.

I had picked out two novels, from the piles of novels that were set out on tables. Two novels the first pages of which spoke to me. I noticed a woman wandering around collecting an armful of books. Every time she chose a book, she would move the book at the top of the pile, essentially, to the top of another pile and then she would take the second book in the pile. She never returned the first book to the pile where it belonged. She did this five, or six times, around the shop, leaving books messed up all over the place. She continually moved the top book from the top of the pile and took the second copy? Why? Wince? Some people are really weird, now aren't they? What psychological disease did she suffer from, I wondered? I wanted to tell her to put the books back where they belonged but, of course, I didn't.

I looked at her, we locked eyes momentarily, I am sure she knew why I was looking at her, but she looked away quickly and she didn't look back at me again.

Bonkers, I thought.