There it was – its silvery pinstriped cover, twinkling oddly in the fluorescent lighting, resting atop the black lacquer display shelves before me as I stumbled in the front door. I paused, catching my breath – I could almost see her winking at me from behind the glistening blue sunglass lens, “I’m here, waiting.â€
Stepping forward, momentarily detained by the security guard that seemed desirous of wishing me a good evening, I snatched a copy off of the shelves. It was in my possession – that “rumored for months†novel, written by the elusive John Twelve Hawks, with the delectable story-based game companion websites – The Traveler.
I rushed over to the counter, whipped out my Barnes and Noble membership card (really, it’s made me spend more money than it’s saved me. Tricky corporate entities!), saved myself 10% off the cover price, and rushed out of the store, once again being wished a good evening by the kindly guard. It was to be a good night for at last, I had The Traveler in my possession.
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