A Rather Ragged Carcass With Not Much to Pick

I can't call the book sale a bust since I got seven book for six seventy-five, but it was lackluster compared to last year. Most of the books were juvenile and children's books that were old in the oughts, and a fair few were cutting-edge in the fifties. That's not so bad when it's fiction and therefore timeless, but it's embarrassing when it's science or history. There was a sad assortment of history and biography, a meager array of sci-fi, and boxes and boxes of potboiler mystery, true crime, and bodice rippers. The whole thing felt listless and half-hearted, and I would not be surprised if they didn't bother at all next year.

T-minus five days until my dental checkup, and I still don't wanna.