There was something of spring in the air today in spite of the temperature.

John the bookseller was a distant relative of one of the five families and he had the last name to prove it. Maybe not so distant. But he was mild-mannered, kind, gracious. Not given to eruptions of murderous anger.

I spent weeks reorganizing and tidying up and dusting his store, at five bucks an hour, when finally he told me what are you doing? I didn’t ask for this.

Turns out the disorder and the dirt were beneficial. It’s what his customers liked to see when they came in. Made them feel like they might discover something in the rubble.

There was a girl who worked there too for a while. Can’t remember her name. A goth. The daughter of a friend of his. She never did much work but John doted on her. Kept her employed. Just like he kept me employed. In those weird, dark times between the band breaking up and getting a real job.