Spine Reading

You might say I'm a bit of a reader. (Though, full disclosure: I was a couple books shy of my 40-book goal for last year.)

I'm not picky -- I read billboards on road trips, storefronts in town, realtor mailers featuring the inexplicably popular fist-under-the-chin pose, etc. And when I'm near a bookshelf, you best believe I'm going to peruse the titles.

Hilarity often ensues.

So big it's 72pt.

Sauntering through shelves of books, I discover a strange juxtaposition of elements.

An authority on fiction.

And seemingly-significant adjacencies.

Bake poetry at 350°F.

Other times, it's a blend of confusion and intrigue:

Probes & Prayers.

But all too soon, my waltz through the words is over.

[Insert pause here.]

My attention quickly returns to my appetite.

Om nom nom. Repeat as necessary.

The Curse of Roommates

Humans are weird. Roommates most of all.

Maybe your roomie keeps himself barricaded in his room all day, only to start moaning like a dying cat around 2AM. Perhaps she drinks milk straight from the jug and keeps a jar of pickles underneath her bed. Honestly, there's no telling with these weirdos.

Apparently this same rule applies in thrift shops: 

Porcelain skin, porcelain heart.

Now I'm not one to bash on the goth crowd -- it might not be my thing, but I've met plenty of great people that subscribe to the counterculture -- but given the expression on her shelfmate's face, I'm willing to bet there's more to this little lady than a pale face.

Cellophane cannot contain this fear.

What do you imagine is this ghostly girl's backstory? Does she have literal skeletons in her closet?