On an erotic classic.

Off and on for over a year I was reading this one erotic classic "translated from the French," The Story of O.

It kind of sucked, but I was making myself read it, since it was a classic, but eventually it got recalled by someone else from the library and I had to go take it back in.

That somewhat made me ashamed, that there were people like us in the city reading this book, and I wondered if the librarians especially paid attention to it when I returned the book, since they would have to sort it into the recall piles and everything and then maybe they'd recognize the title and everything and see that I was the one who had had it.

Sometimes I've thought about how cool it would be to start a library program where you could open up your contact info to other people in the city who've checked out and read the same books as you, since then you could write and maybe even meet these random people from the city that you'd never otherwise meet but who probably share the same interests with you and everything.

That kind of thing would work out, except for books like that one, I think.