I do love books, but they take so long to read. Even if I read all day every day, I make no headway into the vault of books I want to read; in fact, reading only makes that stockpile grow larger, for each book read provokes desire for a half-dozen more. But upon reflection, it is good that books come in the form that they do, because if books were food I would eat until no more would fit into me—until I was backed up all the way to the rim of my esophagus—and then I would vomit them all out and it would be like I had read nothing, and if books were pills I would swallow them by the handful and call a friend and tell them how many pills I’d taken and depending on the action they took and the speed with which they took it I would either die or have my stomach pumped, so perhaps it is for the best that books are slow.