A couple of weeks ago, Cliff and I stopped at a garage sale. We always try to stop at country garage sales because they're more likely to have farm-related things, or tools and such. No such luck here. If you are a garage-sale fanatic, you've been to this kind of place: mostly junk, all of it dirty, and a garage that smells like the inside of a cat-litter box. As you leave, you check the soles of your shoes for cat or dog poop.
I hate to waste my time at a garage sale and then take nothing home. So I browsed through a box of yellowed, tattered paperback books. Your choice for a quarter, or five for a dollar.
I grabbed anything that looked like it wasn't a saccharine-sweet love story. Once home, I checked between the pages for roaches.
I'm reading the first of the group now: Scruples, by Judith Krantz. I'd never have thought I'd enjoy a book about high society and the world of fashion, but by george, it isn't bad... a bit outdated, though. The original publishing date is 1978.