read to me

I'm reading Paris in the 20th Century by Jules Verne. It's remarkable mainly because it was found by one of his great-greats a few years back, in a bronze safe that had been thought empty, and published in the 1990s. Thus:

"Whatcha reading?"

"The new Jules Verne."

Things like this cause little pinholes to open up in the space-time continuum. I think it's where all the single socks and ball-point pens go.