A lady comes in with a plastic bag and a folder under her arm; she looks around for a chair. There aren't any because the shop is now too small but there are steps between levels. She takes a white lacy cushion out of the bag and places it carefully on the top step. I wonder what is coming next. The silver teapot? Scones and jam? No, alas, a list of books 'like the ones you've got in the window.' She wants me to buy them from her of course.
The weekly window change brings more sellers than buyers sometimes. The memories are jogged and it's up into the attic with them to dig out a dusty box.
There are more visitors around by now and the shop has been quite busy. Tough on Tom who came in for a quiet time. I high-tailed it up the road to take library books back and raid the Cs's, fruitlessly as it turned out. I also met S and we had coffee together. My second tepid 'iced coffee' in this burgh. Can't someone teach them how to make it??? In cowardly fashion I don't complain, but I don't drink much of it either.
No comments:
Post a Comment