I haven’t been an avid television viewer in decades now, not since the days of Saturday morning cartoons. And not the garbage they pawn off on kids these days. Actually, considering the fact that I don’t even have cable television (and haven’t in years), I’m unsure if Saturday morning cartoons even exist anymore.

No, when I leave the office I typically head home for whatever novel has recently piqued my interest or pick up an old favorite and simply read.

Unbelievable, I know.

It seems that, in many ways, those who read for leisure are a dying breed. Reading isn’t my only hobby, of course. I enjoy a good round of golf, fishing with buddies, a game of chess, listening to music and playing the guitar (that one’s more of an obsession, really). Yet reading has been, by far, my favorite hobby since I was a young child.

My problem is that I tend to read, then re-read, my entire collection of novels over and over (and over) again. A part of this is that I absolutely love to read and it’s easy for me to get lost in a favorite book, even if I’ve already devoured it a dozen times before. It makes no difference. The other reason for this, however, is the fact that the library is kind of like sensory overload for me. I’m the same way in a video store; I simply can’t make up my mind. Because of this, it’s fairly rare for me to get truly excited for a newly released novel. Deep down I know I’ll run across it sooner or later and grab it up. This was not, however, the case over the last week.

It began as a pretty typical day in the office. I came in as I would any other day, typed away for a couple of hours, drank my coffee and, at noon, walked home for a quick lunch (which I enjoyed while reading one of those old favorites I mentioned earlier).

The surprise was waiting for me when I returned to my cubicle at The Evening Sun.

It was innocuous enough really, just a simple, brown paper bag. I was suspicious anyway though, as I certainly wasn’t expecting any such item to be occupying my desk upon my arrival. I was fairly certain it was safe, so far as I could tell, as I couldn’t think of anyone I’d offended so badly as to warrant one of those scary, dangerous, exploding mystery bags.

With a rueful shrug I crept slowly up to the strange item and, ever so carefully, peeked up over the edge, only to see – a book. And not just any book. This was a book I’d waited years to read.