A stranger, a bookstore and the book |
Our eyes met across the empty space in a movie moment the book in his hand well-loved by many owners the spine old and cracked the gold lettering worn to nothing but the embossed impressions of where words used to be He was obviously a bibliophile his basket filled with indiscriminate haste by whatsoever cover struck his fancy in his hand a vintage Shelley good old Percy Bysshe it was Prometheus Unbound he cradled like a lover His moss green eyes the kind of hue that belongs on a rainforest floor twinkling with glee as if he knew some secret he would share with me if I only knew to ask the right questions As if he knew I had been watching him as he fondled this book caressed another murmured the love words written in a third envious of his easy rapport with a layout that had me bedeviled As if he knew it was the sole reason I braved this den of moldy books and moldier men and delighted in the fact that the faithless book had spurned my advances accosting him almost as soon as he walked into the store I had been here for hours before sans success Glaring daggers at his back half-heartedly lethargic with frustration I searched for another copy when our eyes met once again between the books he reached into his basket with mossy eyes a-twinkle He handed me the Shelley across the empty space and walked away humming a big band standard because he knew he had rocked my world his name and number offered on the scrap of paper he had neatly tucked into the binding line count: 35 |