Me at 46. Not terribly shabby, I think, even at officially being closer to 50 than 40.
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Book thirty-one of 2019: The Big Time, by Fritz Leiber. ⭐️⭐️ 1958 Hugo Best Novel
For some reason, I couldn’t get invested in this one. I didn’t dislike it, and it being structured very much like a single-set play was interesting, but I had to work my way through it.

Book thirty of 2019: Even White Trash Zombies Get the Blues, by Diana Rowland. ⭐️⭐️⭐️ 📚
Upping the stakes with conspiracies, some zombie virus science and military experiments, and a little undead romance. Definitely as enjoyable as the first in the series.








