Darting through the traffic, Grace dodged the black Panther as it was heft onto its stand, and stood on the threshold of the bookshop. Adjudging the layout, she headed down the far aisle beyond the ladder to the ‘Poetry’ section.
She trailed her index finger along the spines of the books standing haphazardly on the shelves. Her finger paused as she came upon a dull red-backed volume with the word ‘Paterson’ picked out on the spine. Grace eased the book from its resting place, and gingerly opened it. The antique scalloped pages were yellowed with age. Resting the evenly balanced tome in the palm of her hand, she buried her nose into its essence and took a long sweet draught.
Replacing the book on the shelf, she swung her satchel over her shoulder and stepped out onto the footpath. She would download a copy to her kindle later this evening.