Every Monday I go to the old library. It smells of old paper, the windows are a little dusty, and the employee is always knitting in a scarf, even in July.

I take one book at random. I don’t read the abstract. I just open it and let the pages guide me. It’s my little madness. My way of turning off reality and diving into someone else’s life.

While everyone is rushing, planning, calculating, I sit by the window, drinking coffee from a thermos and reading a novel about a woman who dances in Vienna or collects seashells in Iceland.

This is my Monday. My escape. My adventure.