March 14, 2010
The Ann Arbor Borders bookstore had always been its own beast. Creaky floors, exposed pipes in the ceiling, near floor-to-ceiling windows depicting a city known for its academia and freedom to be whoever you wanted to be. I knew Stu was at what I like to call the rack, skirting around gay and lesbian magazines and stealing glances at the men around him. I heard what sounded like a large fountain, until I realized it was only a patron flushing the toilet upstairs. Looking for my own entertainment, I perused a manual on sketching different trees--animals, too.