(Hat tip to Donalyn Miller -- @donalynbooks -- for title I borrowed)
I didn't have anything to read, a source of notable chagrin while riding the bus home from school on a snow-gray afternoon. I poked at my phone and saw a branch library had copies of two appealing books on the shelf. One was Celine by Peter Heller, which I'd climbed half way into via audio book on an October road trip. Subsequent car time had proven harder to gather, and this wasn't a story I wanted to leave hanging. The other book was John McPhee's latest, Draft No. 4.
So, rather than walking home from the terminal, I called a commuting audible and hopped aboard a crossing bus route that would take 10 minutes to transport me to the library. I was treated on the way to an animated conversation between two passengers about the merits of author David Baldacci. A different group of bus readers meanwhile debated the merits of e-books versus print ones. I had stumbled into my tribe, apparently, and they happened to be on the 5:07 headed north.
My library visit was a clinical strike: in and out with two books in hand and back on the same bus, which had looped around for a return journey south. I couldn't help noticing the two riders now on board, looking down with Mona-Lisa smiles, lost in reading.