On Queen's Day, April 30th, K bought a stack of second-hand books at the numerous stalls and blankets that take advantage of the free-market that is declared every year on that day.
He bought the complete Tales Of The City series, the original six books before the recent addition of Michael Tolliver Lives. In fact he bought more than six, as he got a couple of them twice. Of course I pounced on them, because I haven't got (or read) the last two yet.
Leafing through those yellowed pages together, we found the inscriptions some of them bore. They were dated 1981, 1987 and read things like "For X, from your Daddy Bear".
"Dead," K concluded, ever the optimist. But I can't help but wonder how many of the men who held the books I now read on the train to and from work are still alive. And it makes me shiver.