Phoenix

Chapter Eight - Memories and Conversations

A tidy little bookstore I had found a few blocks from Gilmore Street hardly had any of the fancy Christmas decors like those from the doors of the surrounding shops. I supposed the owner had reserved the store's earnings for more important reasons or probably, the shop was not operating at a profit at all. A dozen more restaurants and fashion shops waited for me along the sidewalk. I have a free schedule today and was finding a different sort of amusement since I'm tired of my hobbies. I thought I might take a book or two before dashing in to a nearby coffee shop for breakfast. Before parking my silver blue Bentley nearby, I've decided to take a closer look and to my bewilderment, I began to feel a familiar excitement and I've never really known I am fascinated by books maybe because I needed activities that has concern more on other than the physical. Or, more appropriately, I wanted to distract myself by doing unlikely things (the type of which has nothing to do with homicide) and conveniently, somewhat peaceful.

As I was about to jump out of the car, I glanced subconsciously at the passenger seat noticing the tiny scratch on the skin left unstitched. It reminded me of the sting of DK's blade when it slid against it during a ride. I pulled straight the white cotton shirt I was wearing; it's the way I like it —loose and comfy.

The morning met me with a friendly warmth when I went for the walk and stopped before the dust-clad doorstep of the store with the size of only one-third of the adjacent shop. A printed paper was pasted from inside the copper-tinted windowpane that read:

WANTED

LADY CASHIER

Kurt Little's Classic Books has a little reputation, I could say, and the great pile of books hardly fit in its narrow shelves. The storekeeper, surprised at my appearance, took a very short glance at me as the door chimes rang but then showed no interest to his visitor. The fat mustached man was busy marking his records with the tiny pen embedded into his big clenched fist; his belly billowed enormously underneath the yellow-striped vermillion collared shirt. He was most likely in his thirties and his eyes squinted behind the tinted spectacles drooping above his nose.

The scent of old paperbacks welcomed me beside the counter; nevertheless, I found it inviting to my surprise. Suddenly, I thought I remembered myself flipping the pages of a newly purchased paperback before my nose sniffing the scent of dry pulp and ink though I could not tell when or if I really did. Déjà vu it is. With my slender fingers, I began to feel the edges of the pile as I touched them making a wild pick. Like the various keys of a piano, each book showed a different texture —a different tone. My gut could tell whether it was actually a good book or not, at least in my opinion but how could I? I swear I haven't read a lot lately! Maybe, I should ask Mom . . . or maybe, DK.

Where could he be right now? He can't be dead. Is he?

All this time I realized I haven't known much about him and haven't dared to ask. It was also because I knew how he might have reacted. He was always silent and calm though I've never really seen him get mad terribly but maybe again because he could just remain serious and rarely showed any emotion. Although, we can tell when he's not quite in the mood and that was when he wanted to be alone. Empty cans of beer he would leave in the rooftop but you can never really notice he's drunk, well, that is if such a strong hypergene can really feel wasted. He's not into girls, either, and I haven't seen him with one. Sometimes, he can all of a sudden be outspoken when he's in the mood to smile like when he's gotten himself a new car which he just stole from an isolated parking space. He can do crazy things and bad things but I can tell he's just having a day off. After all, we can do a lot of things only us can advantageously do. Even illegal things. But that's for Nexus and the guys but not for me.