Chair
I've just started reading Marilynne Robinson's Gilead. For no reason I was reminded of college. Of the Carnegie Library and Charlie Parker's Savoy sessions. I remembered listening to those sides for the first time in my dorm on Morewood Avenue and of wishing I could listen to his horn forever. I remembered Linda, too, the librarian I saw every Saturday as I returned one set of discs and borrowed another set. I renewed the Charlie Parker albums until I could renew them no longer. And then I would wait a week and check them out again.