I found a quaint little book store at the start of my summer. There is nothing like the smell of books. its quite soothing. I picked up the play by Tennessee Williams, The Glass Mengarie on my first visit. and returned to pick up Oscar Wilde and Edgar Allen Poe when entering there is almost always someone sitting in the front desk hidden behind stacks of old books. and sticking price tags to the bindings. never a face. its hidden with pages. just arms. moving back and forth and back and forth. examining books and determining prices. they place chairs all about the store. when I have days off I dream of sitting in those many corners of books and reading the words I never have.
