The Path of the Bookseller

No one was at the front desk when I came into the gym on Sunday. I stood there for a long moment, membership card and picture ID in hand. Finally, one of the red-shirted trainers emerged from their back room and waved me over.

I showed him my card and ID. “I think someone has to scan these for me to come in,” I said.

He looked at them, then pointed one finger at the card. “Bang!” he said. “Have a good workout.”