What Mapquest Can't Know

I had stapled together a ream of pages holding directions to book stores. The directions told me where to exit main roads, where to turn, and how many minutes it would take. Mapquest even told me how much fuel I'd burn. But Mapquest couldn't know that the book store would be in a grim part of town.

I wouldn't have thought that this small town would even have bad neighborhoods. I found a parking spot shaded by trees so the dogs wouldn't get too hot, and started walking. I passed rundown apartments, a clinic where dirty needles could be exchanged for clean, and buildings that housed helping agencies. People I passed on the street were friendly and said hello, but some had empty expressions and sung to themselves.

I walked past the book store the first time; it had only a small sign and dark windows. But when I went inside, shelves and shelves of books gave the place a fairly nice atmosphere.

I approached a man sitting at a computer. He didn't look up, so I politely waited for him to finish what he was doing. After a couple of minutes, he still didn't look up.

“Hi,” I said, finally, and explained I was there to tell him about a book. I held up the book and waited. He gazed at me without blinking. Eyes have to blink, right? They're constructed to blink. But like a garden frog, the man continued to stare—no expression, no blinks.

I had a fistful of book marks, and asked if he'd like me to leave some. He finally spoke. “I don't care what you do,” he said in a sepulchral voice.

Back at the car, I studied directions that led to the next book store. I thought about just getting back on the road; I'd lost my enthusiasm for stores. But, with a sigh, I drove to the next place.

The store sat on a rise and looked like the witch's house in Hansel and Gretel. It had a scalloped roof and the siding looked edible. The store announced its name in five different colors, and posters lined the windows. When I walked in, the smell of fresh coffee (fair trade) overpowered me. The manager had the day off, but the bubbly clerk stroked the dog on the book's cover and gushed that she was glad I'd come.