He tried on the Durand in tortoise shell. Suddenly, he didn't look like a horror movie librarian; he looked like someone who wrote thoughtful essays about architecture.
"I can't do it, Sarah," he muttered into his phone. "I look like a librarian from a 1950s horror movie."
"But what if I can't decide?" Leo asked, eyeing a sleek blue pair called the Wilkie .
"It’s the opposite of an ordeal. If you want the full experience, go to their . They’re everywhere now—malls, high streets, boutiques. You just walk in, grab a basket, and start playing dress-up. Most of them even have optometrists on-site if you need a fresh prescription."
The fluorescent hum of the pharmacy aisle felt like a personal attack on Leo’s mounting headache. He squinted at the row of generic reading glasses, all of them perched on little plastic hooks like sad, transparent birds.