50 Book นิยาย & เรื่องราว

I got out a dense packed book and quickly went back to Reuben in bed. He looked confused and disheveled; his inquisitive gaze fell on the book in my hand. He asked, "What is that?" I, in turn, proudly presented it to him, "Lo and behold Your Highness, this right here in my hand is the 5th popular limited edition of Busty Asian Babes. I heard it is so stimulating that you can release at any time." Reuben with book in hand, "..........."

He looked back at Ernest. He said: "We are the fifth book." Ernest looked at him. He received this. He received the weight of it. The four books were the written argument. The four books were the description. The four books were the means of seeing. But the thing itself—the convergence, the accumulation, the being-inside, the ordinary day at thirty-three years deep—that thing could not be written. That thing could only be lived. And they were living it. They had been living it for thirty-three years. The living was the fifth book.

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