I went to the bookstore last night, and I’m not quite sure what’s going to happen to my brane over the next week.
My downstairs book is Neal Stephenson’s Cryptonomicon.
My upstairs book is Terry Pratchett’s Wintersmith.
My car book (for when I’m waiting in the car, I don’t read-drive) is an oldish Ruth Rendell thriller, for a bit of relative predictability.
I may be stranger than usual for a bit.