Here I spent an entire afternoon submerged between the wooden bookshelves, a sunny and warm afternoon that should have coaxed any San Franciscan into a day of lazy and haphazard exploration outdoors. The day that had been perfectly set up for a day of exploration became a day meant for idle strolling and pleasant chit chat.
Instead of going to a stand-up comedy show at Doc Rickett’s, I made a detour. I ventured into your space and became mesmerized by your books. I rediscovered my passion for European literature and philosophy, immersed myself in the pages of Sartre and Kundera and Kafka, and eventually mustered the strength to detach myself from that celestial corner of the bookstore to explore other unknown parts. Books on relativity, art and faraway places waved cheerfully at me as I passed from shelf to shelf. Philosophy and the humanities pulled me into their warm embrace over and over again, as I traced my fingers over beautifully composed poems.
I explored almost every inch of that bookstore, all three stories, on that sunny and warm afternoon that lapsed into dusk when I finally stepped out to the real city lights adorning the intersection perched atop San Francisco.