Something to miss

   Searching for another book to add to waiting list of must read. Crap. Crap. Might be good. Read later.
   Few people I know share an urge to hold a book, carry one as armor, read to feed an addiction. One cool breezy evening, Matt and I were the last ones in the music building. He was sitting against the hall wall invested, eyes pasted to the page.
   "Hey," he greeted. "Have you read this?"
  I shake my head no.
  He stands up and walk to one of the back doors of the building. There's nothing built for at least a mile from the building. It's gorgeous. I'm constantly mesmerized by him. He can easily bounce from sweet to wordlessly demanding. I followed him, just like that. Outside, he pops a cigarette in his mouth, lights it, and begins reading to me. Later when I borrowed the book from him, I would realize he read the oddest chapter. There we were outside, in a soft night, light from the building, cigarette smoke, impromptu reading, wordlessly following.
   Skimming through the shelves, I pass over Choke by Chuck Palaniuk. I wish I had more times of some gorgeous voice reading to me. I check out two books and leave the library.