This was the second time in recent weeks that I’ve seen a pile of books on this bus stop bench.
This time I stopped to investigate. The why remains a mystery, but I can report on the what: Some unremarkable editions of less-popular Dickens on the left (ah, Barnaby Rudge, has anyone actually ever read you?), and then some bad romance novels and two volumes of My Friend Flicka (it was a book?) on the right.