Good day y’ all! It’s I, your narrator. Some of you may know me from the Club’s Instagram page where I ‘ve been torment-ertaining you in my free time. Well I am here too (don’t start running I ‘ve infiltrated your camera, I know where you ‘re headed at) and I am here to take you on another magical journey. This time we will talk about books.

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You see, in essence, books are nothing more than sheets of wood held together. But they are not appealing to the materialistic nature of ours but to something much deeper. Oh god I am getting poetic. Anyway. I continue. They are appealing to our minds, our psyche, our imaginations. They take us by hand and via a deluge of roller-coasting (yes that’s a word now) sentiments they tell a story. Random (or not so much) sequences of letters, words and paragraphs can get you angry, happy or even crying (that’s for you. Narrators don’t cry. Have you ever seen a narrator cry?). And it’s magical how you don’t want to stop reading even though you are feeling things that upset you, that make you ponder and reflect. Even though generally I neither ponder nor reflect. In my life, like, in-in general, you know.