Slogging my way through the traffic on the way home from work tonight, I spied something on the side of the road that made me gasp. A book lay on its back, pages splayed and waving in the wind of the cars zooming by. It wasn’t roadkill yet, but I couldn’t stop and rescue it. As I continued on my way home, questions peppered my thoughts.
How did the book end up there? Had somebody thrown it out their window in disgust? Had it fallen from the car roof when a distracted driver sped off?
Who did it belong to? A grandmother? A teenaged boy? A little girl?
What kind of book was it? A romance novel, a horror story, a best-seller, a library book, a textbook?
Will it be there tomorrow? Will it find a home or will it remain in the road, slowly decomposing?