A book [55-word story] | 14

Back in the Nineteenth Century (he recalled), a certain Parisian poet wrote an outlandish thing:

"The world exists so as to be made into a book."

He observed: cars, buildings, lamppost, clouds, the lingering snow now mottled with black, particulate dirt, looking rather shabby.

"Why a book?" he asked. "A DVD maybe?" He felt unsure.