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The BookshopThe Bookshop10 years ago in Scraps
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I went into a bookshop today. I've lived in this town all my life, and I've never seen that store before. The proprietor was a man of middle stature, with a mysterious look about his green-gray eyes. He asked many questions besides the ordinary pleasantries. It was like he hadn't been outside of this musty bookshop all his life. I told his about who the president was, and what the year was, and the month, and what the obituaries had said in the newspaper. He responded to each of these deaths with a choice -almost personal- remark, as if he had known each and every soul who had passed away.
After the impromptu interrogation, he asked me if I needed help finding anything, and I said I was just browsing. He nodded, and gestured to what must have been thousands of books. Stacked from top to bottom, spanning the entire length of the shop, sat row upon row of books. Some were thick, some thin, some old and musty with yellowed pages, some bright and new with bright colored jackets.
I walked c