preston rawlings . {viola} (![[info]](https://www.insanejournal.com/img/userinfo.gif){kind=small} theviola) wrote in ![[info]](https://www.insanejournal.com/img/community.gif){kind=small} musingslogs,@ 2011-01-21 23:03:00 |
 |
|||
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
What: Who knows? A civil conversation, at minimum.
Where: Ineffable (a book shop)
When: Today?
Warnings: Not likely!
Preston surfaced out of the work week like a fish out of water, but after a slow gasp or two he rubbed his eyes and tried to shake the tension out of his shoulders. The air didn't hurt, so he took another couple breaths and turned off his desk lamp. It was early for him, around seven in the evening, and the Seattle light was (for once) not obscured by fog. He stared out the window for a few moments, resting his eyes and marveling that he'd never taken more time to look at the view off the glass skyscraper.
Ten minutes later he was on the sidewalk, boasting street clothes under a heavy coat and scarf. He realized he was staring at the ground as he wound through the Seattle streets, and forced himself to tip his chin up and look around. He never found the old bookshop when he was looking for it. He tried once, got lost three times, and ended up having a stale doughnut in a Vietnamese neighborhood.
This time he found it, and even though the sign said CLOSED (and Preston was inclined to obey signs), he pushed the door open anyway and stuck his head in.