The Stars and the Cookie Jar

My bookshop was just a room. Directly in front of the door was one of those spiral things that twist in the wind - rainbow coloured, which makes sense considering how much of a hippy Malcolm is, but I've never met a grumpier hippy. Tie-dyed t-shirts and long scruffy grey hair and a scowl between them. Bookcases lined the walls, and there was one in the middle with natural history and actual history and musicandphotography, and there was a little nook with the psychic/astrology/psychology. I like the way he associated those three, giving equal creedence or doubt to them all.

There was always nag champa incense burning, because it attracted customers, strangely enough. Sometimes people wouldn't notice that the shop was there until they got hit by a waft of incense, and then they'd come in and browse around the haphazardly piled books, the box of comics in the far left corner, the random stack of CDs on the desk that never got sold.

There was a rocking chair there, for a while, a little way in front of the door, next to the recommended shelf. You can sit there, if you want. :)