The first book fair I went to was a glorious thing.
No one expected me to say much, and I spent the better part of the day hunting down books and sneaking away from my aunt to read them. And to me, that was the best thing in the world.
Like clockwork, every time the fair was in town, I’d go with my aunt (because she worked in the building in front of said warehouse and she’d get free parking). I rarely bought books there, seeing as I managed to finish them before we left, and the memory of the books I’d read there at the back of my mine never fails to bring a smile to my face.
Then, tragedy strikes, and reality impales me like a knife to the chest.
They’d cancelled the book-fair, because, let’s face it, not many people enjoy reading books, and the ones who do have discovered tablets and PDF’s … or whatever it is they use.
I remember almost crying, and feeling that way for weeks after, simply because I hadn’t had my share of books, and books were (are) to expensive to get unless they were on an extreme sale.
I’m still waiting for that particular retailer to bring the fair back, but sadly, I’ve faced the reality that it’s not going to happen.