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As an English major and a lover of books, I have a shit ton of books. But there is one book that is particularly special. I don’t really love it more than others. In fact, it’s not even one of my favorite books. But I just know that when the apocalypse happens, if for some reason I can only take one book with me (I mean, I’m gonna need room in my bag for food and water and weapons and medical shit, so…something’s gotta give), it’s gonna be that book.

Why, though? I mean, if it’s not my favorite, why take it with?

Well, because although that book has 1800 pages, the pages are Bible-page thin, so it’s smaller than a Harry Potter book. And it’s an anthology, ranging from Shakespeare to Langston Hughes to Joyce Carol Oates to Sir Arthur Conan Doyle. It even has a bunch of stories and plays and poems that aren’t classics. And it’s not only an anthology of stories; it’s a text book, too. So with all the stories, it’s got analyses and chapters on rhetoric and literary shit. 

So basically, I want this book with me because post-apocalypse, although I would hate to be a teacher now, post-apocalypse, I’d be all over that shit. 

Does that make me weird?

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