A big box o' books was left for me in the apartment complex office yester-day; I took possession of it this morning. It only contained 6 books, but some of the books themselves were large. And heavy.

The box was open and ruptured when I got it. I don't know just where that happened, though I suspect it was after it had left the local post office. The books themselves were all in fine shape (suggesting that the box had not long been compromised), and there had been an attempt to reseal the box with a few strips of ordinary cellophane adhesive tape. But the complex manager was on the phone when I got the package.

Anyway, the books themselves were concerned with comic strips, electrical circuit analysis, polymer clay, and photographing objets d'art, so the manager probably won't think less of me for her having caught a glimpse of my purchasing habits.

One of the books had been reported by the vendor (Edward R. Hamilton) as shop-worn, but was not. I take it that the shipment that he'd received contained shop-worn copies, but that I got a lucky draw.

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