…that the dude on the next book over can’t even look at it.

It’s like he moved into what he thought was a nice neighborhood, and it turned out that the house next door was actually a brothel. Now he’s forced to pretend not to notice, staying out of the yard and rushing to and from his car, all the while averting his eyes and pretending not to notice all the gentlemen coming and going at strange hours.

And with the housing market the way it is (or in his case, the Library of Congress classification system) there no way he can move. Alas…

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