Today, my friend and I went on a treasure hunt at a local used bookstore. The first thing that hit me when I walked in the door was that smell. You know what I'm talking about. It's old paper, decayed glue, and something musty. Sounds disgusting doesn't it?

Someone will probably tell me it's a health hazard, but for some reason the smell of old books is one of my favorites. There's just something about it that makes me happy. It reminds me of being curled up in a corner for hours, engrossed in a good story. It represents the countless hours I spent at the library as a teenager hunting for something interesting that I hadn't read yet.

It's embedded in those old Mary Stewart novels in the weird little library-edition bindings with no cover art.

It's bliss.

Today I walked in with a whole bag of books I'd already read, and came out with another bag almost as full of authors I love, and some new ones I haven't read before. Now I have a big pile of procrastination waiting for me right next to my favorite chair.

What could be better?

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