It's strange to be in a place where the past is preserved above the present. Where there are frescos but no windows. Volunteers wear ties, women have beards, and rubber gloves are not for medical use. Everyone whispers almost as if afraid to wake the bureaucracy dragon that guards the book vault deep beneath these marbled floors. Yes it's odd, but who am I kidding? I'll wade through any swamp as long as it smells of old books. Once the Kindle starts incorporating the smell of these same ancient tomes, then I'll be completely converted. But until then, I'll stick with the pulps of yesteryear.