supposed to die

In which the author acts a little crazy

So I'm stuck in a small town while my spouse visits his very sick uncle in the hospital.  I'm at a library, working on a book.  Of course, I had to check out the teen section.  And an actual teen was there, a tall girl with dyed stripes in her hair, wearing a dress and footless tights and Keds.  She was scanning the shelves. I could see her watching me out of the corner of her eye as I stood behind her, running my eyes over the H's for my own books.  And I found two.

I'm an extrovert, so I said, "I hear these two are pretty good," and pointed at them. I've done this before, but I guess not for a while.  Because I did what I always do while the person is still wondering "Who is this crazy lady?" I leaned over and picked up one of the books and flipped it open to the back flap.

Only there was no photo. So I frantically picked up the second book.  Again, no photo.

"Um, I'm the author," I offered. "Usually there's an author photo at the back."

"Oh," she said in the false brightly cheerful voice you use for demented people when you are hoping they won't attack you, "I'll have to check them out."

I'm now hiding on the other side of the library.  
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