Charlie was so free of care now. They were chasing a passion, an inspiration, ideas inked onto paper, held together behind covers that teased and promised the unknown and desirable. Divine inspiration, poetry and story, tale and spoken tales of things gone by and things to come. What joy! And of course, there was the wooing of women to come with each spoken word taught by tome after tome written by masters of their craft, word smiths and muses.
They sped through the streets, with the look of two old fashioned school boys, causing trouble. But really, they weren't causing much in the way of trouble for anyone, save the few people they had to duck and dodge around. They barely noticed the eyes watching them...
Charlie stopped running as soon as he came across a stall. Like some of the others, it had been built into an opened shop, the wall removed. And inside, there were shelves of books, row upon row, stacks in boxes and laid out on tables. Scrolls, leather bound books, strange looking books made out of a strange black material and more! It was amazing.
A little out of breath, Charlie grinned at Damien. "You coming?" he asked before, patting his back before heading on in.