So I'm on my way to the Post Office for 37c stamps, and lo and behold! what should be parked in front of the First Citizens Bank but a bright red caravan and a large painted sign announcing: BOOK SALE As it is there is no hope of me resisting, but the 50c wagon-wide pricetag definitively seals my fate. I have about 6 Graham Greenes in my arms and am moving on to the next shelf when the voice of reason finally kicks in, reminding me that (a) I'd hardly had any time to read over the past week and probably won't have much time until classes end and (b) as I have mentioned, my suitcases for the return trip will already be stuffed to bursting as is. Reluctantly, I put most of my hoard back, and, largely by averting my eyes from the shelves, manage to restrict myself to grabbing only two more books on my way to the counter. I explain my predicament to the lady as she is ringing up my purchases and she is heartily sympathetic but only succeeds in making matters worse by informing me that they set up there and bring new books in every weekend. Leg restraints, I think, may be necessary.