The linoleum was filled with old. Lovely discolouration blotches seemed to dance from tile to tile each time my eyes scanned the floor. A crack in the pattern called me back to my, what they called, vintage book. And it surely was. This was my third copy. The first had no cover, so I traded it in for another that had one, barely. With that one, I then noticed the image on the front: purple land with a white moon. It was no longer just shades of blue and green. This second copy was missing pages for, ironically, the excerpt I was to read. So, for the second time, I went to trade my book in for my third copy. This one is whole, but the binding