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Late-night books have a magical power—they can turn a responsible adult into a rebellious teenager, sneaking around with a flashlight under the covers, just to uncover the next plot twist. It's like reliving your childhood but with more existential crises.
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You ever notice how every late-night book has the audacity to be twice as interesting just when you're about to fall asleep? It's like, "Oh, you thought you were drifting off peacefully? Here's a plot twist to keep you wide awake until 3 AM.
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Late-night books are sneaky little things. You start reading, thinking you'll just finish one chapter, and suddenly it's 2 AM, and you're knee-deep in a suspenseful thriller, wondering if the protagonist will survive or if you'll survive your early morning meeting.
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Late-night books are like that friend who calls you when you're already in bed, and you're torn between the dilemma of being a good friend or protecting your precious sleep. "Sorry, can't chat, I'm in the middle of a heated debate with my pillow.
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Late-night books are like the gateway drug to questionable life choices. You start with a harmless mystery novel, and before you know it, you're contemplating your existence at 4 AM while reading ancient philosophy. Blame it on the late-night literary spiral.
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Late-night books are the adult version of a bedtime story. Instead of fairy tales and talking animals, it's more like, "Once upon a time, there was a stressed-out protagonist with a looming deadline and a questionable caffeine intake.
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You know you're reading a late-night book when you turn one page and the clock turns three hours ahead. It's like time travel, but instead of exploring the universe, you're stuck in the gripping world of fictional characters and plot twists.
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Late-night books should come with a warning label: "May cause intense emotions, sleep deprivation, and the inability to function as a responsible adult the next day. Read at your own caffeinated risk.
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Late-night books are the reason my bedside table has a stack of unread novels taller than my ambitions. They just sit there, judging me, silently asking, "When are you going to finish us? We've been waiting for years.
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