Books will be the death of me.
I take reading in public to the extreme. If I give in to the temptation, which I always do, my book will wrap its fingers around the hand of my thoughts and lead my body across the road, up and down flights of stairs, along corridors, and through (if I am lucky) open doors. The surroundings will fall away, with my nose shoved between the pages of my book, smelling the sun-baked fields of another world; my mind’s eyes sweeping a foreign landscape; my mouth tweaking in amusement as my ears hear the petty arguments of the characters; my senses are so occupied that they have neither the mood or time for reality.
Oh yes, books will be the very death of me.
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