How many times do we see such an image and smile?
As the cashier prepared my bill, I looked again at these wonderful books I was purchasing and soon began realising that the thrill that little girl had was strangely missing in me. I knew it was missing because I've had it before as a little boy or even when I was a gawky teenager. I remember those good old days of bargaining with some roadside seller of old books over a copy of a Hardy Boy's adventure or a Louis L'Amour western or a fresh adventure of Richmal Crompton's William. Usually, after a successful bargain (often involving all the money I owned as of that moment), I would race back home and settle in my nook, munch on something and start reading the book.
As a kid, I could never own comic books like Tintin or Asterix because they were frightfully expensive. So I would get one those from a local lending library and read it a few dozen times before it was time to return it. Now that have entire collections of these books, often brand new, I hardly ever re-read books anymore, almost forgetting that some books grow on you the more you read.
Come to think of it, isn't this true for most things we do as grown ups? I wonder why we were in such a tearing hurry to be adults.