Last week, our air conditioner died.
This would have been inconvenient anywhere, but in Florida in July, “inconvenient” does not begin to cover it. The house became hot and sticky almost immediately. We closed curtains, shifted between the few rooms with portable cooling, and tried not to generate any unnecessary heat. Even cooking became a strategic decision.
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A few weeks ago, I visited a store that recently opened in my area, InchStone Books, and my first impression was exactly what every independent bookstore hopes to inspire: I wanted to stay. The shelves were thoughtfully curated, the gifts were reading-adjacent in the best possible way, and the chairs looked like they’d been chosen by someone who actually planned for people to sit in them. The atmosphere had that particular quality that’s impossible to manufacture — the feeling that someone who loved books had arranged the place, and that whoever showed up would be welcome here.
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