My Disappointment

I am preparing for a trip and I love taking books with me.  It’s my equivalent to music. I love looking through my “library” and remembering where I was when I read my books.  The sounds, the smell, the experience’s all come flooding back.

This trip is no except.  I want a book and I know which one.

Off to Indigo.

I find my book.  Stand in line at the checkout.

When it’s my turn the cash associate turns my book over and reads the authors name and exclaims, “You know I didn’t know what Nick Hornby looked like until today.”

I was intrigued.  She continues.

“He came into this store today and came up to my cash and said, ‘I am Nick Hornby, an author stranded in Toronto and I would like to sign some of my books.'”

“Are you serious!” I exclaimed.

My excitement was rubbing off and she lit up, leaned over the counter slightly and jubilantly replied, “Yes, he was here literally 15 minutes ago!!”

Nick Hornby.  I missed him for a pair of shoes and all of a sudden their newness doesn’t seem so bright and I didn’t even get a signed copy of his book.


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