The Book Shop

A second hand book shop watches the Sunday rain beat against a resentful pavement. Its second hand door opens up its second hand world to second hand people, carrying first class money. The newly welcomed, carrying in second hand rain, congeal into groups of mildly interested beings. And a dedicated few splinter off toward the first editions, looking for a stiff pick-me-up in the arts The best books of the shop lay open on stands, their flawless condition protected behind glass casements. The books residing within are aloof with peacock pride and no price tags. A finger raised and a pointed nod selects a book for viewing. An auction begins with only one bidder, a price in mind and not a penny more. The bookseller matches the price to the man. A 'special' price for a 'special' purchase. 'And for you sir, the deal of the week. Trust me'. Suddenly the shops odour changes from musty velum to second hand car lot. The cash register rings another life line for the bookseller. The rain begins to ease and the newly welcomed become the cheerio'd as they rejoin the non-paying, nondescript. The dust begins to revisit old homes and make a start on the newly acquired vacant plot. The bookseller cashes up his till, hoping for more rain tomorrow. The books go back to reading themselves and the shop returns to looking out on the bedraggled, content with the day and happy to have lightened the load a bit