ThriftBooks.com
Article
ThriftBooks.com is a recurring brand in the Collected Agenda archive, appearing 1 times across 1 issues between March 06, 2026 and March 06, 2026. The archive places it in contexts such as “I’d purchased the texts on ThriftBooks.com”. It most often appears alongside A Place in the Sun, Ali RQ, Angelica.
Metadata
- Category: Brands
- Mention count: 1
- Issue count: 1
- First seen: March 06, 2026
- Last seen: March 06, 2026
Appears In
Related Pages
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- A Place in the Sun (1 shared issues)
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- Ali RQ (1 shared issues)
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- Angelica (1 shared issues)
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- Angelmoon (1 shared issues)
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- Banana Republic (1 shared issues)
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- Bella Litsa (1 shared issues)
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- Blizzy McGuire (1 shared issues)
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- Brandy Melville (1 shared issues)
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- Brazil (1 shared issues)
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- Bruno Zero (1 shared issues)
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- Caffe Reggio (1 shared issues)
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- California (1 shared issues)
External Links
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- Instagram: https://instagram.com/me_betseybrown
Source Context
Recovered passages from the original issue text. When the raw archive preserved outbound links inside the source passage, they are listed directly under the quote.
I have decided to quit vice because unless I take my self-experimentation seriously, nothing interesting is going to happen. I don’t take so much pleasure in denying myself the things that I want. At The Marlton Hotel lobby, I was two hours late to meet my aunt for lunch and hungover and she called my father and asked if I was maybe in El Salvador again or perhaps just kidnapped. Small box apartment. No greenhouse roof. I wore an A-line skirt and Banana-Republic-black-top and picked my way across sunlight-streaming in Washington Square Park to arrive late and empty handed. I ran into Olivia in the hotel lobby, and she was glowing with discipline-of-lent and the sign of the cross in black ash on her forehead. I can’t become religious because I can’t even deny myself the things I want, I’d told Joe, a few days earlier. I hadn’t been drinking that night. Well you know what they say about failure rendering humility, he had said, in response, with a smile. And he’d admired my sincerity. And I’d admired his generosity. He’d recommended some literature. This Tremendous Lover (Eugene Boylan, 1946). I’d purchased the texts on ThriftBooks.com and then I’d fallen to sleep listless. Things became worse and then better. In The Marlton Hotel lobby, my aunt asked me if I liked when bad things happened because bad things help my writing. I HATE when bad things happen, I said in response. I HATE when I suffer. I do not WANT to be resilient. I cited a few of my favorite authors who-never-suffered. I like early Babitz and Fanny HOWE, I decreed. I like the-architecture-of-happiness and feng shui and feeling observational. Fanny Howe is kind of sad, my aunt shrugged in response. I hate her POETRY, I said. I picked at my avocado and smoked salmon and did not do so well at modulating my voice. Anyways, it’s more fun though sometimes risky to view measures of necessity as measures of languid experimentation. But nothing interesting happens when nothing gets better or nothing gets worse. And as already mentioned, I hate when things get worse.