It's about twilight outside, so the globe lights in the room, always on, are slowly getting visible now. Forced at the bookshop all day, only three customers bought something in seven hours -- for € 56 -- and I wonder how this place run its errands... After all I am expecting to be paid sometimes next week. I still think about it as I line up the titles in the scaffolds climbing up and down the aluminum ladders, while KJAZ is playing again. Some of these books have been here on the shelfs for months or years or forever probably. My hands are covered in a brown, micro, tacky dust.

Too bad the boss is soon going to make the window all hidden with new shelvings of books, because it really is beautiful to watch outside, sitting at the desk to archive volumes, the lucky side of the canal always in the sun, just about now warmed by the orange sun light setting between the roofs.
Our unlucky side is always in the shade instead , and all the entrances to the courtyards give you that dank feeling when you walk in and out of the condos.

I foresee the moment I will walk out of the place, sweeping corianders with the bottom of my shoes, it is going be cold and pleasurable to walk out finally, and just this thought, of the feelings about to come, fills out my mind to the point I almost do not notice the nth customer stepping in the bookstore who is in fact, again, a seller of his own old books to be courteously dismissed.

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