You go to the book store. It’s a huge sprawling store with books on every surface, up to the ceiling. Maze-like, full of dark corners and narrow passageways.

The old man who runs the shop looks up from his newspaper. He’s wearing a dark three-piece suit, with long white hair slicked straight back from his forehead. Lowering his reading glasses, he says slowly, in a foreign accent, “ah, you must be Susan’s child. She told me you’d be coming. You’re here for the book, yes?”

You tell him you are.

“Excellent,” he says, “excellent. I am Mr. Eamon. I have your book in the back, feel free to browse around while I retrieve it.”

He stands up, grabbing a black wooden cane with silver details, then disappears around a corner at the back of the shop.

You look around and see you’re standing near several labelled sections…