Connie, who manages the bookstore

Hey y’all. I’m a little under the weather this week, so I’ll be alternating brand new SFDs with a few from a couple of months ago. And — does anyone remember Hawley-Cooke Booksellers, late of Louisville? I miss that place.

That short, light wash denim skirt, the dangling gold earrings, the fingernails with rhinestones at the tips – I could be forgiven, maybe, for rolling my eyes when she walked away, (glimpses of her panties as she went up the stairs) for thinking that maybe she enjoyed books, but could she really understand them? The way she talked (too loud) with her hands, punctuated by the jangling of her earrings, a laugh loud enough to startle, standing so close I could see the thinning spots on the top of her head. The way she knew, somehow, the authors just about to make it big, sold their books to everyone like a tent revival preacher. The way she walked in her skin, glittery with lotion and stick-on gemstones– The way I craved that comfort and ease with my body would trade anything for the swing of her hips in that short, light wash denim skirt.