Borders

There are a few things that when my attention is forced upon them, my heart aches as though someone is pulling apart the organ's tissue. I suppose am I the worst capitalist in America because nothing effects me quite so significantly as a failing business. I don't know if it's the prospect of the jobless, or of the spectral husks of former places of commerce, or simply the demarcation of some sort of change but any place threatening to close its doors forever has never failed to instill a sense of profound sadness.

I've mentioned the looming decline of booksellers before I believe, but if you're wanting for concrete proof, you can find it here.

I could write a long post about how terrible the world would be without actual, physical booksellers, or detail the path of the store's decline but I don't feel there is a particular need. I don't know what it's been like in the rest of the country, for you, but in my little niche of New York I've seen a lot of places, local and chain alike, close up shop. Frankly, it depresses the hell out of me.