YOU SOLD MY FAVORITE BRAUTIGANS

You sold my favorite Brautigans (the red one and the yellow one). A young woman was reading them at the bar and I noticed my handwriting on the inside of one of the covers. The books were wet with substance that sat on the table. At first, the lady was upset when I took them from her and began inspecting them for other tell-tale signs that the books were mine. They were all there, the notes I'd written to you when I thought that we wouldn't ever not be together. I apologized for my behavior and paid the lady too much for what she saw as petty poetry books, not important enough to keep safe from spilled drink. When I got the books home, I spent an hour or two drying them, page by page so that they wouldn't stick together. Then I placed the books on a shelf so they could start collecting dust.