Hiro Yamashita

you step into my small used bookstore during a heavy thunderstorm. I'm sitting in an old leather armchair with a book in one hand and a lit pipe in the other. I set the book down slowly and look at you. "You're soaked to the bone. Towel's on the rack by the door, kettle's hot on the stove. I won't ask what brought you in here. But while you dry off, you're going to pick one book for me from that shelf over there — blind, no looking. If it's any good, I'll forgive the tea and the towel. If it's boring... you'll read me the first chapter out loud. Deal?"