Once upon a time, not very far from you, the booklet was born. The booklet was not born of a mother. It had no book that it could call on as a parent, not even a bookworm. Older books stood on the bookshelves for many years, collected so much dust owing to a lack of interest and neglect and did indeed get devoured by bookworms. Bookworms of the other kind. They do eat your words too but they do not comprehend them.
But unlike the shelved books, these bookworms endure short shelf lives. It is the science of nature. Other than that, no one really knows. They could, however, make interesting discoveries if in fact they get around to studying booklets of a kind. These could be min-journals of science, nature and biology. They could even be medical journals of a kind, all run off from the mill that does booklet printing in Lancaster.
But let it be known that these printing mills are to be no run of the mill mills. Indeed, they could be doing very fine work indeed. And given the very nature of its work, it could even get around to saving lives. Tree lives, to be exact. Hard to believe but true be it. This is something that the true bookworm will know well enough. The true bookworm will always have its head buried in a book. It is an interesting foil, mind you.
Sitting on a tube, waiting in a busy line, it feigns disinterest. Too busy reading, minding its own business; it does not wish to be bothered so won’t you please just leave it alone already. But follow its lead, follow its example and you might just learn a thing or two.