>>25302008
you are about to discover the concept of public libraries, a very important step in the life of every double digit iq midwit

People are doing this en masse at Barnes & Noble. Just filling up their bags with books & criterion blu-rays only to walk straight right out of the store.
Tempting, but it's really only worth the risk if you have a friend on the outside making sure there's no cops in the parking lot or something, as well as an easy escape to the woods, lest they nick your license plate.

>>25302658
I used to do this when I was a teen, I'd steal like 5 books and a few moleskins at a time, never even tried to be sneaky about it, just put them in a tote bag or in my pants/hoodie. Never had an employee do anything about it.
Nowadays with surveillance shit though I'm more worried. The best way is to not look sketchy is to just buy something. I only got caught by an LP one time at a home depot, I asked if he was a cop and he said no so I just walked away

>>25302008
Not worth it anon, just pirate it

>>25302008
After you do this often enough, the aging owner, who all this time has silently observed you, will grab your wrist as you're about to exit, and deftly extracting the pilfered book from beneath your overcoat, demand: Where do you think you're going? You stammer, helpless, withering under his spectacled gaze - but what's this!? His stern expression has melted into an avuncular smile! One of my favourites (he says, leafing through the slim eighteenth-century volume). I see you're a fellow with taste, and a book like this deserves to be read somewhere special. And, one hand still on your wrist, though now not as tight, he leads you between teetering stacks of yellowing books, saying in a warm and resonant voice: Yes, I've seen you often, scurrying around like a thief filching precious treasures - oh, only a true book lover could look that guilty. You are touched by the owner's kindness, but where is he taking you? What is beyond this old wooden door he has stooped to unlock? Suddenly all is brightness, fresh air, the smell of roses: you never knew the bookshop was hiding this courtyard garden, mossy and green, where the plash of the fountain and the chirps of the birds are all that disturb the silence. Here (he pulls up a white metal chair), take a seat, take your time; and don't mind my daughter, if you see her; sometimes she too comes to read, or to draw, or simply to hear the birds sing. And before you know it, the owner has left, and you are alone. It is like a dream, the place is so beautiful, so unexpected. You realise the book has fallen open in your hands, the sun is dappling its pages, and with the effortlessness of lapsing into a deep sleep after a great exertion, you sink into the words of the story. When you finish, twilight has already crept on. You rise, and head to the door. The door is locked. Strange. You knock, and when there is no answer, you knock louder, call out. But the reply comes from behind you, and her voice is as soft as a night-breeze: Father doesn't like it when they're noisy. She is standing but a few paces from you, eyes dark like polished stones. In her one hand, a lantern; in the other, a stack of books. She wears only a pale gauzy nightdress. Stepping closer, muttering to herself, she selects a book of fairy stories and presses it into you hand. Yes, this one tonight (she murmurs), this one is best for bedtime, we'll save the others for tomorrow. She settles cross-legged on the grass, and, studying you intently, asks: Do you do voices? The last man couldn't do voices, all the characters sounded the same. It was horrible! Father sent him to the cellar to learn his lesson, but that just made him worse, he couldn't read the words right at all after that. I sure hope you're good at voices. Well, why are you just standing there, mister? Start at page three seven five - that's where the last one reached before Father got rid of him - three-hundred and seventy five. Just remember to do the voices.