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I hesitate.
Stepping sideways through the unfamiliar door, I shuffle between sagging, purpose-built shelves, moving slowly to give my eyes time to adjust. A spill of cracked spines, piled one on top of the other bulging floor-to-ceiling marked by the occasional cock-eyed, hand-written sign, a promise of some kind of order.
shadows
curtain the alcove –
a beard coughs
sections run into each other; “Literature”, “DO-it-yourself”, “History”, “Cooking” is separated from “Self-Help” turning a corner
you will find “Tasmania” along a wall down the hallway, past a sprawling jumble of random miscellany and comics. There is nothing here for me, I head for the street.
“Fantasy”
by the disappearing staircase
I hesitate.
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~~~
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