Or something like that?
I got my oil changed today. The Toyota dealership is pretty new and swanky, the kind of place you'd expect to have stacks of poetry books on the art deco tables, scattered issues of Barn Owl Review for customers to peruse, etc. A classy joint.
Amazingly, I was the only one reading a poetry book. Or a book, for that matter. A highly-tattered copy of Ladies Home Journal was available (is that plural and possessive? Ladies'?). CNN was on. A guy was shouting into his cell phone about Home Dee-Pot and Burt Reynolds. All the perfect backdrop for Modern Life.
So what are the strange places where you engage in the tawdry act of poetry book (or litmag) reading?