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         Once upon a time, there lived a man who loved to read more than anything in the whole world. He read for hours every day, and it made no difference what the subject matter was. He would read any number of different things, from classical literature, to medical journals, even cookbooks. It wasn't as if he was even using and applying what he read in these books, he just enjoyed the experience of reading them. He lived in a small loft on the top floor of the library. You see, he owned the library and had access to all of the reading material his heart desired. It was a very small library, so he knew of and read every book that came in, some even as many as ten times. It didn't matter to him. He was a very simple man with very simple pleasures. He seldom had to leave the comfort of his own library. The other people living in the small town cherished him. They were kind to him and he was kind in return. When his face wasn't buried within the pages of a novel, he would always have a pleasant smile. One quiet morning in the library, he woke up, put on his slippers and shuffled about, searching for a book to read. He came across one that for some strange reason, did not look familiar to him. He pulled it off of the shelf and noticed that it was covered in a thick layer of dust. This was odd, he thought. His compulsive reading hadn't allowed the books in his library the chance to gather dust. He brought it over to his small leather desk, put on his spectacles, and opened the book. He began to read page after page with an intense determination. He had never been so immersed in a book as he was with this one. His employees opened the library doors for the morning and welcomed the first patrons of the day. He was oblivious to this. He began to turn the pages faster and faster with furious anticipation and a lustful gaze. Finally, well after midnight, the last page flashed before his eyes, and he was able to close the book. He stared quietly for a few moments, unaware of just how long he had been reading. When he got his bearings, he placed the book back on the shelf he had found it, with his usual delicate care. He slowly walked up the stairs to his little bedroom and blew out the candle in the hall. He fell asleep immediately. The next morning, he woke up and very quickly felt a sensation he hadn't ever experienced. The old man rushed to grab at any spine on the bookshelf. About three pages in, the old man closed the book and carefully placed it back from whence it came. He did not feel like reading anymore.