In the silver and azure temple, the old souls are arranged by alphabet. Preserved safely, pressed between ivory sheets of dead tree pulp, shards of the souls of thousand writers are waiting to be resurrected by occasional visitors, dusty travelers or determined students. Their invisible tornadoes will take minds and hearts under control and ride the oblivious mediums to unfolding imaginary lands, to the minds of the writers. One can almost see figments of awe darting through the dazzling open space, while pensive bodies bent over precious offers of knowledge remain blissfully unaware of the silent tumult. And when the respectful guardians of the Stuttgart public library decide to send them souls to rest, you can return to a Nowhere World, that sweet milk stout dessert beer from Left Handed Giant, exhausted from travels which took you further away than your feeble legs would ever be able to carry you.
And you'll still want for more.
