A faint musty scent colliding with the aroma of freshly brewed coffee filled the air. The stuffiness of the room made breathing in the fighting odors difficult. Sinfully delicious cinnamon rolls drenched in a sugary glaze sat beautifully imprisoned in it’s glass case. Dust was scattered generously amongst the bookshelves that loomed over each other. Time had not been so gracious to the occupants of these bookshelves. The leather bound novels ridden with frayed spines and marbled edges sat there desperately waiting to be caressed. Each book contained adventures that screamed at the patrons as they carelessly walked by. Unable to catch their eye, the ancient volumes waited. Waited to be cracked open, for the content of their faded ink to be spilled from their pages. Begging to be taken from the murky depths of the bookstore, they remained ensconced, foxing as time forgets their existence. Hardbacks rested on the deteriorating mahogany bookcases forever lost. Their rugged covers that have bounded their pages enshrined within will slowly fade into oblivion, never knowing the sound of the soft creaking their stiff spines create. The ticking heartbeat of the cobweb infested grandfather clock chimed that it was half past seven. One by one, the subdued glow of the lights flickered out leaving the books to rest in the enclosing darkness.