Magasin

My thumb traces down the edge of the page. It’s not smooth, but ruffled, weathered like an old doctor’s medical dictionary. Nowadays they look up your ailments online in order to diagnose you. I don’t like the online diagnosis method. The answer is always cancer. A scratchy throat? Cancer. Pain in the chest? Cancer. Elbow not bending properly? Cancer. No, give me a doctor that looks up my symptoms in a book.

There’s a good smell with books. I rocked back slightly in the chair, lifting the book to my face, and breathed in the smell of vanillin. It bristled my nose hairs, making my head roll back, with my eyes following suit as I sigh, feeling the scent make its way into my body. I lower the book into my lap, closing my eyes for a moment of bliss. Forget heroin, vanillin is a better high.