My favorite bookstore memory: a used-book store called, I think, Black Oak. In San Francisco. The friend I was visiting took me there, and I wandered further and further back in this enormous room stuffed with books; just when I thought I’d got to the back aisle, I found a door and behind it was another room just as big. I kept picking up books I couldn’t resist. I ended up with as many as I could carry without my arms buckling, and had to heft them back to my friend’s place, on the bus, no less.
Before we could buy used on the internet, when I went to a strange city I always brought an empty suitcase for the books I’d bring home.