I found a pristine History of the United States from 1976. The spine had barely been cracked, no fading on the glossy pages, just as though it had been hermetically sealed for 30 years. I opened it up, and found an inscription on the flyleaf:
“To Jonathan on his 12th birthday. Much love, Uncle Alex and Aunt Helen.”
Poor Jonathan was probably hoping for a Kiss eight-track, or better yet, some cash.
