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Being a degenerate is okay these days
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((Min-jae Parker continued from Bittersweet and Sour))

Jae's motives for swinging by the bookstore on a Sunday afternoon were twofold; one, Nadia's birthday was coming up and they were friends or something so he should probably get her a gift. Two, he was fucking bored.

Okay, that was being a bit uncharitable. He and Nadia were friends, as much as they sniped at each other, and she deserved a little something special for her upcoming 18th. He had vague aspirations of finding some novel with all that jazz about empowerment and stuff that she liked, or maybe the next book by this author she'd been reading lately. He'd made a note of the author's name in his phone, because he could barely remember how to spell it and had no hope of pronouncing it if someone asked what he was looking for. He'd never read anything by this chick, but apparently Beyonce had referenced her or something during a show, so she was kind of a Big Deal. Also something about feminism and human rights, which was Nadia's jam when it came to literature.

In short: if he couldn't find anything by this Chimimanda Ngozi Adichie person in Kingman, he was going to have to resort to ordering things off of Amazon again, and the things he bought for his friends guaranteed that all the "recommended purchase" emails that he got from them were ever-increasingly weird.

The (fake) bell over the bookstore's front door chimed as Jae pushed his way in. The store was practically deserted, save for the bored-looking girl at the front desk that Jae thought he vaguely recognized as a Cochise student from the grade below him. An empty store suited him well enough; nobody to distract him from browsing or complain that he was blocking a shelf or anything.

He didn't bother to say anything to the girl as he made his way back to the fiction novels. He wasn't sure what genre he was looking for, so he figured that working his way through alphabetically was his best bet.
"Art enriches the community, Steve, no less than a pulsing fire hose, or a fireman beating down a blazing door. So what if we're drawing a nude man? So what if all we ever draw is a nude man, or the same nude man over and over in all sorts of provocative positions? Context, not content! Process, not subject! Don't be so gauche, Steve, it's beneath you."
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