dark bookshops of dank and dingyness

Friday night the count was 3748. I kid you not. I was nearly numb with boredom. I managed to locate the bookshop, making sure that i focussed purely on the task at hand and did not deviate in any way shape of function. It was where i had looked before, of course. Such is the way of things for me, the straight path is generally the right one, but i am busy picking berries from bushes over the way. The bookshop was a dark, dank affair, full of weevily smelling tomes. There was a trust issue from the owner, as their invariably is in these places, and to be fair I was not completely sure of whether or not i trusted him or not. There is always the chance that he was one of them. It would hardly be a surprise in a place like this.

I quizzed him on the book and he said he knew of it and it would be expensive but he knew where to get a hold of a copy and that i should watch myself with it and did i know what i was doing and did i have experience in the field and on and on and i just said yes because i want the bloody book and i don’t trust the man and i don’t know what to think of all of this rubbish.

The door tinkled open and a man came in wearing a long black coat. I quickly told the attendant to do his best and I would pop in next weekend with the money and quickly made my exit. I don’t want them to know what i am up to just yet.