I'm allergic to dust. My eyes water, my throat starts to itch, my nose twitches. Yet, I love old book stores and I love that old book smell. You can tell when you pick it up, a used book is different, it's been loved a little. I like to find corners flipped on a page or scribbles on a back cover. And then I make my own scribbles, and folds, and spills. There are always spills. And my own marks find their home, among the greying pages, like rings on a tree.