The following essay is to be read aloud in a mid-atlantic accent while wearing an imaginary tweed jacket with preten(d)tious elbow patches and smoking this Rene Magritte painting.
I have a book problem. More precisely, I have a problematic lack of space for all of the books I wish to own. As with most recovering addicts, I have self controlled and shamed myself into not living out my worst literary fantasies. Somewhere in the multiverse there is a hoarder version of me with stacks to the ceiling of things I am going to read again when I have that mythical extra time. A Little Free Library in Fisher Park near my house would go a long way in ameliorating my book/space problem. More importantly it will keep me from passing on this disease to the next generation. I fear my 3 year old may also have a book problem. Hers is still just an innocent yet insatiable appetite for more and different books. It has not yet devolved into my capitalist desire to own and keep. Help me as I seek to live out and teach an ethos of sharing. Assist us in our pursuit of ideas over objects by providing my family a Little Free Library in our neighborhood.