I Am Homeless But Not Bookless

I recently moved, which means it was time for the great book culling of 2013. It was not as harsh as the great book culling of 2009, where I cut a collection of who even knows but way over 1000 books down to 17 books. How did I do that, you might ask? Charles Blackstone would come over with a bottle of vodka. And the people taking the books away would wait until I was just sitting in a puddle on the floor, having conversations with my framed photograph of W. Somerset Maugham (I chose a very grumpy looking one, from when he was older, so I could really feel his disapproval for my antics every time I looked over), and then they would just start hauling books out. I would wake up on the floor, not really in a state to care, and look around and see a lot fewer books.