None But Eagles

A trip to Guelph on a rainy Friday resulted in the usual one-two bookstore punch — a gigantic dusty shop in a strip plaza full to bursting of used books (we brought in two bags of books we didn’t want and left with one bag of books that I did want; no money changed hands and it felt revolutionary), and a hipster bookstore full of hipsters being hip very loudly (aside from us and a woman asking about a book on chakra clearing, the clientele was made up exclusively of earnest young men wearing plaid short-sleeve button-ups and messenger bags talking loudly about god knows what; I refused to listen). Pretty much all I wanted to get out of this week off work was a mild case of sunburn and a big stack of books, and got them I did.

P.S. Alison Bechdel’s Are You My Mother? should be up there but it’s not pictured because I’m too busy reading it right now as I type really.