“Ah! What the fuck!” Michael Bolton, already doomed with a name that did not match his multi-tattooed multi-pierced “tough guy” appearance, but was chosen by his lovely mother, glanced over the direction of the café situated on the third floor of “Retrospective”, the underground bookstore he worked at as chief of security, and snorted. He walked, massive, monumental, as if his body were a piece of granite on which you could have sculpted the face of another bunch of dead presidents; and as solemn as Mount Rushmore he stood casting his menacing shadow over a tiny old lady, sitting at one table surrounded by two backpacks, one large briefcase, a trolley and a pile of books that could have made the Chinese
Great Wall turn pale. Like the besieged stares at the besieger, so the little lady turned her gaze towards the young man and smiled. “If it isn’t metal detector’s worst enemy!” Grinned the lady. “Would you mind moving, you are covering the light!” “Marlowe, this is not the public library… you either buy the books you read or at least you put them back the way you found them.” “What do you mean?” She turned away to sip her cappuccino. “I mean this!” Michael lifted a book showing an evident and circular coffee stain on one of the book laying on the table. “And I have countless of other books with stains, tore pages and quotes written with pen!” “You should be grateful I fix other people mistakes… so you won’t read bullshit!” “These books aren’t yours… and people don’t care for your remarks, they want new books!” The lady snubbed him only to flip another page and get enlightened. “Ah-ha another mistake!” When she was about to write something on the page, Michael grabbed the volume and managed to get a long ballpoint line going across the page. “Well, it wasn’t a good page anyway!” She turned to sip her cappuccino. “Oh hell!” He blurted impatiently. “And where did you get that coffee from?” He threw a cold glance towards the guy working at the café. “You are not allowed to get coffee in here!” “Hey, don’t look at me dude, she brings her own stuff!” Replied the other one in self-defense. “Chill, boy, it’s cappuccino. I am doing you a favor, you should thank me…Once books used to tell people intelligent things and I used to write books on books so people would not get fooled by common mistakes…” “I’ve never seen any of your books...” He overlapped her. “…and now they are shooting crap on crap…Like that Da Vinci code thingy..” She continued ignoring his comment. “Jesus Christ, Marlowe, that’s a best seller…” “Did it sell?” “Of course not! You tore pages off from every single copy in store! Not to mention what you did to Harry Potter!” “Oooh that one! The boy is named Pothead while he is evidently under crack…” She tried to protest. “That is not the point! I get in trouble for every single thing you do, cuz I am chief of security here and if a book is damaged I didn’t do my job… I should charge you for all the things you do but in the end I always let you get away with it!” “So that is how you repay me!” She sighed and assumed a melodramatic pose, lifting a hand to her forehead. “I try to spread culture and…” “Look I warned you over and over!” He interrupted her. “Just cuz I hang out with your daughter doesn’t mean I have to be nice to you all the time…”