Mid-morning on a clear summer day in Saint John. The air is warming up under the climbing sun, a playful breeze carrying the call of gulls and the faint fragrance of the sea. I’m early for an appointment, so I spend a few minutes at a secondhand bookstore. This is a bookstore for the discerning reader. The stacks are neatly filled with hardcover copies of some of the most memorable literature of the last century. The owner is playing a Bob Marley recording. I sip my coffee and stroll through the stacks of books, quietly singing along with Bob.

“One love, one heart. Let’s get together and it will be alright,” I sing as I drift through the biographies and historical fiction.

By the time I get to the General Fiction, Bob and I are singing “No woman no cry.”
I feel myself swaying to the infectious rhythm of the music with no concern about what others might think of me. My greying hair and wrinkles liberate me to completely disengage my give-a-shit.