Small Town Bookstore

The musty smell of old books mixes with fresh rain and a pot of coffee. The door creaks as I push my way inside, enveloped by the scents. A familiar wrinkly face smiles and nods as I shake off the raindrops that saturate my hair and shoulders. "Morning" I nod in return before walking to the coat rack that sits to the right. I carefully layout my jacket on one of the old hooks that holds a hat and two other wet raincoats. It drips to the floor as I walk towards the counter. The old wood floor pops and cracks beneath each step. A red rug worn out and faded covers old stains and deterioration from the years of feet coming to and from. There are even old singe marks from the days where smoking inside was still allowed.

Her warm eyes and gray hair make me feel like a child again. Her eyes full of wisdom and kindness meet mine from behind her glasses "The usual?" she asks as she grabs a mug from behind the counter. "Yes, please." I say with excitement in my voice. A cup of black coffee from an old bookstore beats anything Starbucks can produce. It takes her a little while to get it poured but I am in no rush. Time disappears here, and that is exactly why I have come. To get lost in the yellow old pages that transport me to far away places where time is irrelevant.

I let my eyes wander, scanning the shelves and exploring cover by cover, title by title. "Here you go dear." She brings me the steaming mug as I search the shelves like a child looking under the tree on Christmas morning. "Thank you SO much." I carefully take the cup and breathe in the bitter aroma that stimulates all my senses. The first sip burns the tip of my tongue but I am far from disappointed. There is nowhere else I would rather spend my rainy morning than with yellowing books and rug burns.