A pudgy man meanders into a bookstore. His make-up, a collective of cataloged hooks; best-of, neighborhood favourite, fashionable fit. Thick wayfarers sit perched atop a Jewish nose, juts out to jail his personality; born this way. A thick bushy beard bares its bristles across his jaw, shifts a little as he speaks. Across his frame he fits an improperly tight plaid shirt, crafting his stomach into something a little less round. Jet-black jeans decorate his legs, send them into the purposely worn sneakers he covets like none other. A girlfriend in tow, she walks ahead; an empty leash draped from her hand. For him, we assume; the sexual selves an internet aroused.
Together they round the showcased island. A touch of books follows his trailing hand, non-committal. Her presence, disinterest, the implicit offering: “hurry”. Three rounds done and his path turns to the counter, the assistance of a paid head.
“Hey dude, so we’re like, going on a road trip for three weeks.”
Pausing, he waits for the piqued interest.
Spurned.
“Right, so yeah, um, this road trip. I was hoping to get some good reads for it, you know, some good books to keep me busy while we drive out and explore the country”
The paid head tilts itself to the side, a quizzical effect. Responds,
“Is there something specific you’re looking for? Like, do you have a favourite author or something?”
“Well, um, I mean, I love to read books. I just, love them. So, like, whatever you could recommend would be really cool”
Again, the paid head asserts its stance. Turns further to the side, severs its contact with the offered eyes.
“I mean, that’s really broad. Who was the last author you read?”
“Oh, yeah, um, I read so many books, I just don’t really remember, you know how it is”
“No, I don’t”
On that note the girlfriend intervenes.
“You bought a Michael Chabon once, it’s in your bathroom, but I don’t think it was ever opened. Maybe you like him.”
The paid head nods.
