Hooked

“Wanna go for a walk?” I ask Ron.

“Can’t,” he says. “I’m reading.”

“Wanna play cards?” I ask later.

“After this section,” he says.

“Wanna eat dinner?” I ask.

“But I only have this much left,” he says, holding up the book he’s reading and showing me a hunk of pages.

It’s of my books. I’ve been telling the guy for years about all the excellent novels and memoirs I read. He’s seen me plow through hundreds and hundreds. But when it comes to his reading choices, he always sticks to really boring ones like these.

But one bright shiny morning out here in The Ark, he decided to pick up my copy of Bright Shiny Morning. He read the first page . . . and hasn’t stopped.

James Frey’s writing is addictive. And it’s a book about LA, a city we both love.

“What part are you on?” I ask, as I head out the door for a morning walk.

“Dylan just stole the money,” he says.

Later, as I am playing solitaire, he asks: “Why won’t Esperanza just quit her job?”

“Just wait,” I say, moving my red jack under a black queen.

I doubt I’ve converted him to my world of books. As he finishes the last few pages, I presume life will return to normal around here and he won’t be picking up my copy of Heaven’s Coast.

But you never know.