postscript

 

Unable to find anyone who wanted my books, I began taking them down to the laundry room as I did my wash. There is a bookshelf in there for books people don't want any more. As you can imagine, being an Upper White Side bookshelf, the collection is eclectic leaning intellectual. I took down the first load when I put in my wash, the second when I came down to move it to the dryer. When I came down to fold my clothes, I saw a man loading my books into boxes. 

"What are you doing?" I asked. "I collect books," he said. "How come?" "I have to eat!" We chatted for a while about life in a pandemic, and about old books, which he manages to sell to shops and street vendors. He goes all over the city to pick up books, CDs and DVDs. He said one famous theatrical couple told him that Broadway theaters are being supported by business grants and will be OK. I wish I had asked him more, like about what kind of books sold most easily, but I realized I wanted to take his picture and my phone was upstairs. I asked him, and he said sure. By the time I got back, he and my books were headed for the exit.

Now I know that somebody wants my books. Donald does.