Books, harbingers of secrets. One never knows what truly lies between their pages. Every word consumed shapes us, each in a different way. Just the act of pulling a tome from its shelf can illuminate in so many ways. So, in thanks for being so instrumental in transforming me throughout the years, I decided a reciprocation was in order.

I felt sick as I sliced into my first page. The oscillating blade shredded through its guts, carving out chunks of the warm paper. A permanent cloud of old, pasty dust hung in the air as I continued the mutilation. As the musty smell of an old library assaulted my nose, my thoughts were drawn to my victim, Elise.

In 1926, Elise Lathrop published Early American Inns and Taverns. Eighty-six years later one copy unwillingly found itself on my operating table. Now completed, where once it could only convey, it now truly embodies the hidden hideaways we all need from time to time.


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