J.D. Salinger, Franny and Zooey

He was handsome and sweet but not much of a reader. I gave him my (much cherished) copy of Franny and Zooey, telling him how much the book had meant to me growing up. He seemed happy, so I followed with others I thought he’d like. But when he moved in some months later, bringing with him a box of smelly secondhand paperbacks of the kind the library practically begs you to take off their hands, there was no sign of Franny and Zooey or any of the other books I’d shared with him from my collection.

He told me they must have been “accidentally” thrown out during the move. To add insult to injury, he insisted his ragtag books sit on the shelf alongside mine. I dumped the illiterate cad not long after.

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