Several people have responded that they too are fearful of finding themselves with time on their hands, alone without a book.
I am sure I told the story elsewhere in this Weblog but the focus of this fear in me is an incident that happened one fall afternoon in Los Angeles where I queued-up to register for new classes at the university. It was a lovely warm day and I was surrounded by hundreds of other students, mostly strangers but with that je ne sais quoi of Southern California drug culture in the mid-sixties.
The line was interminable and moving so slowly that we all were squatting on the sidewalk. That was when I realized I had nothing with me to read: not even the proverbial gum wrapper. You know that feeling when your flight to the coast is soaring into the stratosphere and you suddenly can’t remember if you turned the kitchen oven off?