On a Receipt

I found an old receipt in my book today, it fell out as I was flipping past Seymour Krim’s essay on the failed businesses of his siblings, or something like that. This receipt, you must know, was not my own. I cracked this particular book for the first time today, though I am not its first user—an old library pawned off for pennies at an annual sale. They say that the average library book only survives three uses, though I’d be surprised if this particular book had seen so many before it made its way into my hands, purchased, shelved, borrowed once, then sold. 

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