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Athena Kildegaard - Guanajuato, (Mexico):

April 02, 2001:
This book never danced the two-step, never did a strip-tease, never got
    a hard-on.
This book was never left in the lurch.
This book never rushed to print or spilled the ink or spoke
    its mind or ate its words.
This book never had a screw loose, never got down to brass
    tacks, never hit the nail on the head, never hammered it home.
This book never upset the apple cart, killed the fatted calf, counted
    its chickens, or cried over spilled milk.
This book never witnessed a swearing-in or a jumping-off or a going-down
    or a hoving-to or a putting-on or a letting-slip or a warding-off
    or a gloating-over or a setting-right or a rooting-out.
This book never drifted with the tide, never ran like the wind,
    never swam against the current, never weathered a storm.
This book never broke down, broke in, broke bread, broke out, broke
    even, broke through, broke fast, broke ground, or broke wind.
This book was never spell-bound, moon-struck, tongue-tied, hot-headed, red-handed, or out-witted.
This book never ran amuck, never forked over, never made merry, never
    toyed with, never hankered after, never cried wolf, never turned tail, never
    gave notice.
This book never ran out of luck, or came to blows, or
    fell to its knees, or swallowed the bait, or broke the news,
    or bit the dust, or popped the question.
This book never made a fool of itself, never went scot free,
    never stuck to its guns, never went whole hog, never put its
    foot down, never promised the moon, never lost its marbles, never high-tailed
    it out.
And until right this moment, page one, this book never lived.