He left the book on the topmost row of the shelf where I keep the television. It is a new book, one he knows I haven’t read yet. I do not like how he continues to keep knowledge of things that pertain to me. More to the point, I do not like him presuming that all the things he used to know about me still hold true.
In return, without my consent, he took two of my books. To read, he says, in the meantime. In the meantime of what, I wonder. While I take time to finish the new book? Until such time that he can bring me another one?
I do not like this ransoming of books. I do not like the underhanded attempt at bribery. Insidious. But what harm can possibly come to me in a book? Too many to contemplate, I think. Still, I slowly crack open the spine and fall in.
Soon enough, just as he probably intended, I am completely lost.