Two book-related pieces in the Times caught my eye. One was about a local bookstore owner facing eviction, but he was able to soften the blow a bit by having a gallery exhibition of his paintings. The other deals with the curious things one finds between the pages of used books — everything from money and correspondence to food and dead insects. There's a part of me that would love to play a prank on someone I hate by sneaking into their house and placing slices of uncooked bacon in the fronts of their hardcovers.
I've found a few exceedingly curious things pressed into the pages of used books — newspaper clippings, stuff scribbled on hotel stationary from other countries, and a few dedications written on the endpapers that inspired endless curiosity about who the people had been on either side of that particular dedication. One in particular — which I don't feel comfortable quoting here in detail — inspired me to do a little detective work about who the people in question might have been. I never got an answer back from the people in question, but I hold out hope that they feel like their universe was a little less cold and distant.