The shelves gape like open mouths, shoved full of words, each book a tooth, gritting against the texts.
You can look for years, searching every mouth for the magic words to set yourself free - philosophy or fiction, theology, poetry, the mystics, words, words, words.
A wave of dizziness passes through me, reading the titles on the spines, so much time wasted looking for something to solve my problems in bookstores, libraries, universities.
“I think I need to eat something,” I tell Katie, and she nods solemnly.
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