My friend Smack and I went to one my favorite Nashville used booksellers, The BookWoman, the other day while I was in town. We spent hours perusing the endless dark aisles of books while thunderstorms boomed outside in Hillsboro Village. My perfect definition of a way to spend an afternoon.

She pulled a book off the shelf. It was Siddhartha, a book that’s on my reading list.

“Banana,” Smack said, “have you read this yet?”

“Not yet.” I said.

“It’s only a dollar. You need this.”

She is correct. I do need it. It is, after all, on my list. When the BookWoman tallied up my spoils, the price seemed more than I’d calculated in my head. I asked her to go over the receipt with me. Turns out Siddhartha was $6.95.

“I thought this one was a dollar.” I said, pointing to the book in question.

The BookWoman took a deep breath and a long pause and peered at me over her the top of her bifocals. “Honey,” she said, “That one is never a dollar.”

Fair enough. I’ll be reading it this weekend. Obviously I agreed with her because I purchased the book. I’ll let ya know what I think.