Each week, our intrepid interns reflect on life and times in the big city.
Okay, I admit. I’m a hoarder. I hoard books. Most of them I never fully read. They just line my bookshelf and are leafed through every now and again. Outside of my own library, the English major in me goes a little crazy whenever I spot one of my favourite titles. But it has to be a used copy. For me, there’s no charm in picking up a brand new book with an un-cracked spine from a giant retailer. That’s boring. Used books, on the other hand, are fascinating. They tell their own stories in addition to the ones in their text. I love the smell of old paper and the yellow pages and the crumpled corners. And if there’s an old inscription inside? Jackpot!