Sundays at The Strand

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I used to do the exact same thing (almost) every Sunday when I lived in New York City. The Strand. It was my place. I’d spend hours going though the $1 racks, sometimes even the $2 ones, until I found at least two good books I wanted to walk away with.

What I ate before, where I got my takeaway coffee from and what I did after The Strand was always different, but my time there was special. For some reason or another I felt like I needed to go; my weekend was never complete without a visit. And as dumb as it sounds I now miss those books, they felt like friends.

I also got my copy of Me Talk Pretty One Day signed by David Sedaris himself at The Strand, so, you know. That book, the one with the title page that David (first name basis) drew a cute little steak knife in, continues to be one of my most prizedĀ possession in book form.

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