sitting in the tears of dead and dying genius

feel so out of place in this bookstore
I’m actually reading from a book
the old woman beside me scans through an issue of Globe and Mail
while Atwood and Keats weep behind us
before us, three young young ladies flip through magazines
and eat french fries and text and giggle
I think about a time
when this bookstore was once a tavern
and wonder is we all would be much happier
if it still were

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