Sucked from the incoherent roar of the streets, the steamy interior of Randall's is quiet as breath, enfolds Moe gently as arms. The musky scent of books is a balm to soothe the pounding of his heart, to ease the tension from his shoulders and back. Either side of his spine are the faint, smouldering embers left by the beast's gaze. He tries to shudder them away, secure now between shelves of books strong as pillars.
Ahead, tucked in the round belly of the shop, stands Margo's desk, a nod to t...
Published on February 24, 2012 14:07