The Price of Books

Miserable Bastards (Part 2)

I look at the two suits I’ve got hanging on the rack, wrapped in plastic.

I pull on my jeans, t-shirt, hoodie. Trainers.
Standard operating procedure.

And I’m out on the street.

Bright Glasgow sunshine. What gives?
Could get used to this.

I’m not wearing sunglasses, just going for a general scowl when I walk in the sun.

It seems kind of fitting.

What is it with folks that say "to be honest," making a big deal? What were you doing for the other 90% of the conversation?

I’m cutting past the subway and down into the town.
A business woman running past gives me a dirty look. Her heels clipping on the ground.

Streets are busy.
The streets are always busy, but I’ve missed most of the suits and morning rush.

I should be just in time for opening.

Past the corner shop, the library. I stop outside, look in the window. Shelves and shelves full of books.

Fuck.

I walk past the man collecting for the Salvation Army. He gives me a nod.

Inside it's busy. People diving around, a man in a suit bustles past me to a photocopier.

I thought libraries were meant to be quiet. I can see Ami working at the desk, a queue of people in front.

She looks up at me surprised and gives me a quick wave.

I look at my phone and look around. Back to the phone.
I drift from the queue and head to a display table.

New Fiction.
Fiction of the year.
Classics.
Local Writers.

Fuck, there it is.

‘Miserable Bastards’

With the new cover the publisher insisted on.

The room shrinks down around me.
I try to breathe deep.

I try to think of 3 things, I can hear, I can smell.

I feel a cold sweat coming on and then I'm gone.

Back outside.

Standing to the side of the door. Breathing in deep.

I can see the bar from here. The worn wood of the door and into the darkness.

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