I really did mistime my travel plans and ended up with a couple of hours to kill before the flight home. I hadn’t brought headphones or my kindle (the usual standbys), so bought a book. A penguin classic, the best little orange and white ones that don’t cost forty bucks. It was only 160 pages and i had devoured it, cover to cover, right on touchdown in Brisbane; brought sharply out of that beautiful reverie, that trance that is a story by the wheels gripping tarmac with a whole body shudder.
I love to read a book like that, furiously and as a distraction to life around, so that i learn quickly just how to fold and cease the binding to my will, broken into the shape of how l read it. pages bent and dog eared, abused by interest and crusted in pretzel dust. I just wish I’d spilt a great mess of chicken parme sauce to sign the destruction my reading tore from those pages, licked half clean in a futile attempt to either save face or make out what that word is smeared in red.
by PorridgeTooFar
2 Comments
I know some people love to keep their books pristine. I honestly don’t care at all about wear. But my books still look pretty fresh when I’m done with them anyways. Feels like some people have purposeful intent for their books to be destroyed by the end.
Curious, what was the book?