Today I brought my freshly-signed copy of The Ocean at the End of the Lane with me to work, because I’d waited almost a day and a half to read it and clearly that was as much restraint as could be expected from any reasonable human being.
So I’m sitting at the circ desk, innocently reading my book, when my co-worker spots the yellow sticker on the cover that says ‘Autographed’. I explain that I saw him at the Crystal Ballroom on Saturday, and as I’m telling her about the event she takes the book out of my hands, turns to the title page, and smells Neil Gaiman’s signature.
Once she was done, I asked her whether she was trying to smell the paper or the ink.
“Both,” she said, “and they’re wonderful.“
