Powell’s bookstore

I’ve never done drugs before, but I have been to Powells. That’s basically the same thing, right. I mean, the end experience gives you an identical trip. 

To start, you’ve got to significantly trek outside of your day-to-day life to get to the location. Especially true (on both sides of the metaphor) if you start in Idaho. (If you don’t understand that last sentence, it may mean you live in Oregon or Washington, where your drugs are right around the corner. Liberal high five. Conservative shake of the head.)

Once you finally get there, you see (not to stereotype too much, but…) the exact type of people who you expect to be there. “I’m here for my fix,” says the person in front of you in line. “Yeah, I figured,” you respond. “My nerd senses were tingling.”

You’re not looking to try anything too hardcore, so you gravitate toward the more popular selections. Anything with a New York Times Best Seller label slapped on it or anything that sounds familiar. 

Halfway through, you look down at your watch and see two hours have gone by when you would have guessed only 30 minutes. Woah, dude.

At the end, your wallet is $100 lighter. “What just happened?” you ask yourself. “Did I just overdose on books?” Looking down at the 8 books, nearly spilling out of your arms, you confirm: yeah, maybe. 

***

Human Wishes - Robert Hass

2312 - Kim Stanely Robinson

Sin and Syntax - Constance Hale

The Opposite of Loneliness - Marina Keegan

Fahrenheit 451 - Ray Bradbury

Leaves of Grass - Walt Whitman

The Productive Writer - Sage Cohen

So You Want to Talk About Race - Ijeoma Oluo