The call comes in the middle of my third cup of coffee. I load into the car and wonder just how much space 500 books will take up in my wagon. It’s industrial where I am going; gray buildings of concrete and steel compete with each other for light. Is this the part of life that makes you an adult? Driving yourself, alone, to sign forms, shake hands, stare at 23 boxes shipped straight from Dubai?

Matt is the man in receiving. I back up my car onto an L-shaped ramp and impress him, and I think to myself, you should see my book. Because this is suddenly possible. I can see my book. It’s everywhere. I feel big and small all at once as I heft box after cardboard box from the pallet into my trunk. I drive home, almost a full ton heavier and feel like I’m flying.