"The true magic of this broken world lay in the ability of the things it contained to vanish, to become so thoroughly lost, that they might never have existed in the first place." The Amazing Adventures of Kavalier & Clay, by Michael Chabon.
Ethan snapped the book shut. Oh, bollocks! He held the book in his hand, weighing its heft, wondering whether to throw it at someone in this ramshackle Quonset hut they called a terminal. God, it was hot. Sweat was rolling down his arms toward the already limp pages of the book. He decided not to heave it; it was the only thing he had to read in English. And if it was going to annoy him, even that was more engaging than watching the fellow stranded passengers, glum and sweat-stained as they were.
He watched a few languid clerks come and go at the boarding desk; they stopped to chat with each other and Ethan was sure it wasn't about when the plane he was waiting for was going to leave. He could also see a few mechanics tinkering with the flying machine out on the tarp. They were he thought probably stapling the motor back in. He wished he could teleport where he wanted to go. But that required a coven, lots of concentrated power. And groups weren't really his "thing". Once or twice in the past he attempted to form a circle but in no time at all, there'd been "office politics". Someone accused someone else of not returning a thurible; a flat owner wanted to be paid for spilt candle wax, and what usually broke up the gathering for good was Ethan giving in to an impulse to bring in a little extra Chaos, just to see what would happen.
So, for his sins, he was virtually camped out in some tin foil terminal waiting to make flea-like hops from island to island in some obscure archipelago until he reached its most remote corner (if they could be said to contain corners) where some rich, slighted plantation owner wanted revenge for something. He (the offended party) was willing to buy the services of a wandering, C.O.D. mage and to pay handsomely. Ethan was willing to be paid handsomely.
He returned to the book, thinking that it was people who forgot things, willed themselves to forget, pretended to forget. People who denied things that once existed ever did. Not "the world", certainly not the earth; the earth always remembered. He began to open the book at random intervals looking for sex scenes.