I had always dreamed that we’d find the brown-paper grocery bags and deconstruct them like we were in grade school. We’d run a pair of scissors along the seams and fold up rugged copies of our favorite books.
The ones that we’ve dog-eared and scribbled in the margins. Even the ones–before I took it all seriously–that I drew stick figures, so instead of reading, we could marvel at someone being shot out of a flipbook cannon. I’d even put that one in the mail. I’d wrap “The Giver” in a Kroger grocery bag and lick a half-sheet of stamps.
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