[ in all honesty, the bookstore isn't kaveh's place. not really. in kaveh's mind, the city is split between places that belong to kaveh's world, and places that belong to alhaitham's. there are the backroads, the hardware stores, the half-gutted stores in the mall deep within its wending corridors that kaveh knows nobody will spend time in, offices missing glass panes and window frames starting from the highest floors down because the welcome diner needed wall-to-wall-windows and nobody in the city is a glassmaker. kaveh's workshop spilling out into the streets where the rainwater gutters have never quite see the use they were meant for. that was kaveh's city. alhaitham's was thus: the level high roads, the city hall and the vault of secrets, a grocery store precisely five minutes away from his apartment that stocked the best coffee of the city, another 3 minutes south that had tahini in little jars that kaveh would empty out and fill with varnish and wax for the bows and the swords that have come out of his workshop in increasing numbers.
the bookstore.
in retrospect, it's odd to attribute the bookstore to being alhaitham's considering that it's a communal resource and that kaveh is familiar now with enough librarians to understand why there is one here in the first place. the store itself is tucked away in district one; it has an exposure that gives it lovely sunlight in the mornings, and the building it's been renovated from has an excellent view of a cozy little strip. if this were any other city, kaveh thinks, there would be little open storefronts with their owners calling out their wares at sun-up, foot traffic of wending, eager tourists or explorers of their own city finding their way here as if drawn. but this is a city where the only life there is is the life that they make of it. kaveh finds himself here, now, a little tote bag the shimmering with the colours of a primordial sea slung over his shoulder and a measuring tape in hand.
the door announces his arrival. kaveh looks in. he brightens. ]
closed. @don
the bookstore.
in retrospect, it's odd to attribute the bookstore to being alhaitham's considering that it's a communal resource and that kaveh is familiar now with enough librarians to understand why there is one here in the first place. the store itself is tucked away in district one; it has an exposure that gives it lovely sunlight in the mornings, and the building it's been renovated from has an excellent view of a cozy little strip. if this were any other city, kaveh thinks, there would be little open storefronts with their owners calling out their wares at sun-up, foot traffic of wending, eager tourists or explorers of their own city finding their way here as if drawn. but this is a city where the only life there is is the life that they make of it. kaveh finds himself here, now, a little tote bag the shimmering with the colours of a primordial sea slung over his shoulder and a measuring tape in hand.
the door announces his arrival. kaveh looks in. he brightens. ]
Don. I didn't know it was your shift today.