Morning Meeting at Ye Olde Bookshoppe

Nancy pushed and squeezed her way through the crowd. Claustrophobia overwhelmed her. To free herself from the press of humanity she took a turn and ran onto the pedestrian crosswalk. Tires screeched and horns blared. From on high, death cast its shadow, but did not strike the quarry. Oblivious or perhaps just indifferent, Nancy continued her brisk jog across the street. She gave the irate drivers a big grin and a cheery wave, while the mantra of Alice and Wonderland's white rabbit danced through her head, “I’m late, I’m late for a very important date! No time to say hello, goodbye, I’m late, I’m late, I’m late!”

They had planned to meet at the bookstore that morning at nine. It was already a quarter past the hour. “There’s nothing like making a good first impression,” thought Nancy, as she rounded the corner and arrived at her destination, Ye Olde Bookshoppe. An ironic name because as she pushed open the door she was engulfed by the smell of new books; the smell of freshly cut paper, of printing ink, and of binding glue; and the smell of distant worlds crystallized into tangible, reachable conduits.

The familiar thrill of finding and of knowing filled Nancy and she went to the closest display, picking up the first book that caught her eye. It was The Count of Monte Cristo by Alexander Dumas; she had been meaning to read it ever since she had read The Three Musketeers in junior high, but there had always been other books pleading for attention. Her desire for just a small taste of The Count overcame the urgency of her situation, so she opened the book to a random page, “His mind was filled with a single thought: that of his happiness destroyed for no apparent reason,” and with that the book consumed her.