My childhood library is now a Chinese buffet restaurant. It seems like the perfect metaphor; you get so excited by the selection of egg rolls (books) that you eat (check out) more than you could possibly handle, but you don’t regret it at all. Before it became the House of Hunan, my library was within walking distance, and my home-away-from-home for much of the summers. I would beg my older sister to walk me there (or, let’s face it, I was bossy and probably made her do it), and spend hours. The summer after 4th grade, I held a contest, in which I was the only participant, to see how many books I could read. Answer: 75. I loved reading that much. They built a brand-new library that was modern, had a playground, had way more books, and wasn’t in a strip mall. But there was one problem: I couldn’t walk there. Admittedly, it was better for research, which was helpful as I got older, but it wasn’t really the same. I still spent hours at a time there, but I always thought wistfully of the old library, now purveyors of fried rice and lo mein.