Bookcases

I love my bookcases without reservation or shame. Plastic, unfinished wood, cherry wood, wrought iron, whatever style or mode, they are cherished.
One of them behind my headboard collapsed at 3am. Books crashed down on me, narrowly missing my skull. I was a fool for placing the case right behind my bed. I had to pile them on furniture until the next morning when the heartbreaking task of taking broken pieces to the dumpster faced me. I suppressed my sobs until I got back inside.
I recently received a giant six shelf case from my super, who informed me it came from a deserted garage another owner had left. I have filled every inch of that baby with paintings, camera lenses, knick knacks and whatever. Not books though. Not that monster.
I have close to 100 books on writing on a case against the garage wall. Someday I will get to them and become a best selling author who can afford wall to wall shelving.
It's too bad cold cuts have to be refrigerated or I would layer them across a book shelf. Maybe I could have a shelf just for radishes.
I have many classics and deep works on deep subjects, some of which I've browsed through. As long as the spine is facing out and guests can see the intimidating titles I am perfectly satisfied.