#34

A small room filled floor to ceiling with books, old books, books with cracked gold leaf covers, stained leather spines, yellowed illustrations, dog-eared pages. A man sits at a desk in a small back office, barely visible through a sheet of glass shielding more mounds of books. You tell the top of the man’s head hello. He gruffly tells you to ask him any questions you may have. You tell him you’ve passed this store many times and are happy to finally be inside. He does not respond. The weathered carpet makes soft noises of protest as your shoes press down, walking in small circles around this room of history. When you are finished admiring the collection, you thank the man, raising your hand to him as you walk towards the door. He does not respond.