The bookstore in the U-District has been closing for at least a month, but now it looks like it's finally limping towards the final stage. The shelves are mostly empty, and what books are left are mostly disordered and thrown about. Jeff heads to the back, to the corner that smells like kitty litter and all the contents therein, in search of Marco Polo. I'm just along for the ride, and so I dawdle near the front to take in the scene.
It's an interesting crew. A young boy and an old man sit next to the last shelf of "Literature A-H" playing chess. A cute guy with curly hair sits behind the desk, near the cash registers, goofing with a little girl. They're messing with a magenta shawl, wrapping her up with it, covering her eyes. But it's the guy on the couch that really catches my attention. He's an older man with graying hair and beard, and he's asleep. He's also snoring. There's what looks to be a mass market mystery/suspense book open on his chest to the last few pages. Covering him gently is a quilted green and white blanket. It's not an average quilt, though. It looks like it belongs to the bed of a little girl; it's very frilly and feminine. I wonder about him, wonder about what he's doing there and where his blanket came from. But I don't wonder enough to wake him up, and ultimately I really hope he had a nice nap.
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