Customers often ask us where we find our books. The answer is simple. We have found that repeated pacts with the supernatural entities that hang around the Forks of the Thames at night–furry, literate entities–offer the best results. Few know of these nocturnal booksellers. Why they exist, we couldn’t say. Brian Eno says that Art is everything that doesn’t NEED to exist, and we, in this case, will agree, for we would never assume that raccoons in formal wear down by the Thames exist solely to provide us with great material.
Yet, provide it they do. In fact, just recently, we came out like bandits. We suppose this is what happens when you are “in the know.” Scratchy, as we have come to call him, took us to the forest on the Flats where he had set up a lovely little display. In the moonlight, we perused his wares, a tad frightened, as we were the only humans there. Other, more gnarly, raccoons were around, but they behaved. Books build bridges, after all and from what we witnessed, it isn’t only human booksellers who have to endure chatty customers, as an elder, bespectacled customer of Scratchy’s chirped away about some sonorous thing at length while Scratchy winked at us with a “you folks deal with this bullshit too?” look in his eye.
Oh, Scratchy, we deal with it. All, in the service industry, human or not, carry that heavy burden.
Nevertheless, we were able to snag some impressive titles in the subjects of Gastronomy, the Dark Arts, weird tales, and fringe sexual acts–the latter pulled firmly from the claws of a very handsy badger with a little-too-much twinkle in her eye. After we paid Scratchy (in garbage) we three lay on the river bank together and talked about what the world will be like in twenty five years when no one reads anymore and recycling makes trash extinct. “Decomposing bodies,” our furry friend said, “will be the only source of food for us.” Then we slinked away into the darkness to double-lock our doors and pray for dawn.
Enjoy the books!
With love,
Jason and Vanessa
