Chapter 28
I’m in a shack in Paris, my worth measuring as low as possible. I think I’ve hit bottom, but then I glance at the magnificence around me and think: No. Like Agnes, I’ve chosen my destiny. At least mine comes with a view.
But spending all day hanging on a rack, with a paper clip on one’s cover isn’t exactly the pinnacle of success. And, I’m discovering, there is such a thing as too much fresh air.
When the light begins to fade, so does our Book Keeper. He unhooks the postcards from their display, and lays them on the first tier of Books. Then he stacks the posters of Paris on top. I am placed next to the postcards, along with a few other Books. He folds his stool, and puts it on the second tier of Books. He collects his now-empty thermos, pulls on his coat that has been hangin
