I love the smell of old books. I love the smell of old comic books and magazines, the finely aged newsprint, baked yellow by time. And when I open one and lift it to my nostrils for a gentle little sniff, I’m flooded with a sense of nostalgia, sometimes even for eras that were already long gone by the time I arrived on the scene.
Several years ago, I went to a used book sale at the state fairgrounds. I walked away with a giant paper sack full of vintage Asimov’s and Analog mags. I went back the next year and found more. I believe they cost about ten cents apiece, I don’t quite remember.
I’m not a collector of things. I used to be, but I’ve become somewhat a minimalist in recent years.
These, though, like most books, I plan to keep forever. I got them super cheap, and…
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