The Bookworm

A pile of books before her, she caressed them all lovingly. First two even stacks, then switching books from one pile to another, adding more to one pile, then all into one large pile again. She took pictures on her phone, her mittened hands fumbling with the keys. First a picture of the large stack, then smaller stack, then each individual book was picked up, rubbed with affection, and photographed from all angles - front cover, back cover, spine, inside introduction pages.

She didn't look like a typical bookworm. Dark hair chopped short with a shock of pink straight above her eyes. Piercings in her ears, her eyebrows, her lip. Striped toe socks with flip-flops, cut-off jeans. What was this for? Why all this caressing and sighing? Why all this intrigue over the selection of a book? Why the pictures?

"I feel so spoiled," she said to the boyfriend who wasn't listening, then presented the reason behind all of this. It was a gift card, which she laid on the table, eyes shining. "100 dollars!" she exclaimed, then added sadly, "but I can't get them all." Then she divided her piles again, gave a sad glance at those she left behind, and walked away with her new treasures.