Books were habitually scattered about, small mountains of knowledge and realities I would step into, only to reluctantly leave later. Before allowing myself to dive into these various creations, I had to stealthily open the cover and examine the first line. Many will disagree, but the first line is the most important. It dictates if the book goes to the top or bottom of the stack. An exceptional sentence will pull you in like the aroma of comfort that wafts from a bakery; it hints at the delicious tale to come. But now, in this story of my life, I am left without a first line, so we will begin, quite eloquently, like this: I will never ask permission to go to the bathroom.