The bookstore is a perfect rescue vessel because it gets me out of the house, puts me face-to-face with the common unwashed I have managed to loathe almost as much as I’d been loathing myself, and doesn’t lead me to further self-destruction through vices of solitude like having a drink or seventeen at a corner tavern. Once there, my regret and hope squirt out of my pores like a well-hardened blackhead from my nose. And for me, when my regret and hope get together, that’s when solutions, inspiration, and energy are made.