I saw a teen girl who was sitting alone on a park bench. In her hands she clutched a book, oblivious to all other sounds around her. Her face seemed to react differently with the turn of each page, she stared at the book as if there was a ghost sitting next to her and reading over her shoulder. Another time she clutched the book with such desperation and longing. She let out a gasp, and I immediately realized that she was reading a mystery novel. The volume of the book marked her as an avid book reader, if not for the speed at which she read or the intensity blazing through her eyes.