<hr/><div align="center"><span class="bbc_size" style="font-size: 14pt;"><strong>Addicted to that old Book Smell</strong></span></div><hr/><div class="floatright">(http://img1.wikia.nocookie.net/__cb20131031203615/challens-original-character/images/f/f9/Emily_bett_rickards.jpg)</div><strong>Name:</strong>Wilhelmina "Wil" Holms<br/><strong>Sortment:</strong>Graduate Student<br/><strong>Mood:</strong>Calm, quiet, centered<br/><strong>Clothes:</strong>black tee, jeans, sneakers and a hoodie.<br/><strong>Tag:</strong>Wyatt Callo<strong><em>[Closed]</em></strong><br/><strong>Location; Date and time:</strong>Second floor stacks, library  October 4, 10:00 PM<br/><hr/><br/>She started to question her idea to take a graduate level English Lit class when they assigned a poem analysis.  She didn't<em>get</em>poetry.  Why couldn't the author just say what they meant?!  Why all the flowery prose with allusions, metaphors, similes and other utter ridiculousness.  So, what was the analytical mind to do? Find other's analysis of course!  The poem they'd been assigned was<em>Richard Cory</em>.  A little internet research led her to a periodical the library thankfully had with a recent article on the poem.  Volume three, Issue six of the EJELLS to be exact.<br/><br/>She could find the poem, and plenty of analysis online but there was something about a book, even a journal.  It was solid, concrete and something she could interact with.  It wasn't as cold and impersonal as staring at an electronic screen in her room.  So she tossed a pair of sneakers to go with her jeans, black tee and Old Navy hoodie.  In her short time as a postgrad at Jamison she'd already learned she didn't really care for the main part of the library and cafe.  But the stacks...oh she loved the stacks.  And not for the same reason as so many of her amorous fellow students.<br/><br/>No.  Wil loved the smell.  She jogged to the second floor stacks and paused to take a deep breath.  Paper and ink.  She loved that smell, let it fill her head and lungs until she could forget anyone else might even exist there.  The slender blonde began making her way to journals she needed.  When she turned a corner to see another student there she squeaked in surprise.  "Sorry" She whispered.  "Didn't think anyone else even used dead tree journals anymore."