Who says people don't read in Los Angeles? Me for one. That is, until my roommate told me this story -
I asked her this morning if she had a copy of Melody Beattie's The Language of Letting Go I could borrow, because we have a garage sale coming up and I hate turning loose of all my useless stuff. Yeah, uh-huh, that's the reason.
"You know," she says, "I used to have a copy of that, until it was stolen, along with The 7 Habits of Highly Effective People and The Seven Spiritual Laws of Success..."
(At this point, I'm thinking, "God, that's a drag and how awful. Taking self-help books is a little akin to stealing someone's bike, which if you ask me is worse than car theft, or making off with their work tools. Really, just dreadful stuff, but on the other hand, you figure you've got to be pretty desperate, and maybe the books helped..?")
She continues, "And the person who took them sold them for crack..."
(Wrong again! But how much could you possibly get for three used books?)
"...To The 18th Street Gang, because they are so low they'll take about anything for some tabs."
But hey, at least they're reading.