Every once in a while, a man’s life loses its outboard engines, takes shrapnel in the hydraulics, develops a fuel leak and drops its flaps at altitude. One is left with his own ass, what he can keep in his pockets and, hopefully, a parachute.
Such is my situation; I am compelled to vacate the Den of Iniquity for less comfortable lodgings. Space has become a consideration, and with that lack of space comes utter confusion and difficult choices.
Tonight I packed away the trusty working library in milk crates and stacked it… in two columns each six crates high. And those are just the ones that aren’t littering the place like the roaches I hope to hell I don’t have.
Like a budget-hawk going through NASA’s request, I began slashing. Death to Tom Clancy! Patterson is a hack! Turtledove can’t sketch a character with a crayon! But it was not enough…
Death to all fiction! Goodbye Steinbeck, see ya Doyle, catch ya on the Internet, Shake. And the self-helpers, too! Organize my life in twelve easy steps? Fuck that, I’m starting by tossing the damned book! And these questionable works of history–the 12,342nd Regiment of SLURPEES in the jungles of Costa Rica? Gone! Textbooks? Well, I never could understand that analytical chemistry anyway. Maybe it should go as well.
These books are in damnable condition. A vast majority of them are coverless bookstore paperbacks rescued from an ignominious dumpster doom. The good ones are pawed, torn, dog-eared and water damaged.
And I can’t let them die.
I have to be out of this place by the end of the week. I can’t spare even the crates to put 'em in–they shall be my furniture in my new Walk-in Closet of Iniquity.
Here is what I propose. By Friday evening of this week I’m getting the hell out of here. The place will be vacant and clean with the exception of a couple of hundred once-cherished books a case of Miller High-Life, and maybe some other worthwhile junk. If I’m lucky, I can have a rudimentary list of stuff by tomorrow.
If I can garner some interest among you, the People of the Straight Dope, you’re welcome to come and choose amongst them. As an added bonus, you’ll also get a free resume, seeing as I’m unemployed on that date as well. BYOB(ooze and boxes).
The Den is also up for rent, and I haven’t found anyone yet to take over my lease, so if you’re interested in a bitchin’ location five minutes on foot from the Rosslyn Metro for a way-too-high rent, you can come check that out, too.
It ain’t much of a party, but I’ll keep the hours flexible if anyone is interested on such short notice. Please let me know, otherwise Walter Mosley gets ventilated.