I’m going through the list of old blog-post drafts and deleting many of them. However, a few are worthy of posting even after years of sitting in the draft bin. Here’s one from Bookgasam about The World’s Most Dangerous Bookstore.
You see, as is apparent from one’s first step squeezing through the front door, Bill’s Yesterday Books is not the nicely organized, aesthetically pleasing publication warehouse like a Barnes & Noble or even a typical trade store you’re used to visiting.
Instead, it’s a whole damn house with no living space whatsoever. Books are literally (and pat yourself on the back, dear reader, if you caught that pun) piled to the ceilings, but not on shelves, with a foot-wide pathway rudely carved through the rubble that one must shimmy through sideways in order to travel. The place is so overflowing with reading material that the path itself is comprised of volumes. It is near impossible to see the walls. And a window? Forget about it. There isn’t enough sunlight to discourage insects from forming veritable kingdoms in there. With careful balance and a reliable pair of mountain boots, the home is navigable, but it’s a one-way trail, and friend, there ain’t no passing once inside.
Before we were granted full admittance into the treasure cove, Bill posed one important question: “Y’all’re 21, aren’t ya?” We said we were. “Yeah, I kind figured so. I sees you’s gots hair on your legs. Heh-heh.”
