He was looking for The Red Book but instead stumbled into the wrong store. “Other side of town,” the purveyor spurned upon hearing his request.
“Ahh, I’ll just take a ‘Moby Prick’, then.”
“1 nickel please.” This was 1939 after all. Or thereabouts.
Biff Carter walked into the Cassandra City bookstore with the *correct* book. He laid a nickle on the counter.
“No cost,” the purveyor spurned. “You have to read it here.”
Biff Carter walked over to the bookshelf with the lone book not stuck or fused with it, took it to the store’s lone chair, and began to read. About himself.