Setting down the last of this load of boxes of books, Robert looked around at his newly acquired bookstore. Shelves already covered half of the walls, and a pile of lumber and power tools, along with a fine coating of sawdust everywhere, attested to the fact that he'd been at it for some time. Various freestanding shelves already stood in their places in the large room, and the couches and chairs for customers to sit in while perusing books were in the back under plastic, ready to be hauled out, once he got this sawdust cleaned up. The floor was hardwood, though the planks were aged, and soft, prone to creaks and moans, and a large fireplace dominated one wall, which, though a potential fire hazard, would add a nice bit of merry cheer during cold slushy winters, or just save on heating bills.

Looking around at the eighty or so boxes of books, the rows and rows of shelves, and the giant mess of sawdust, Robert chuckled ruefully.

"And here I imagined this would be an easy living" he mused to himself, as he searched around for the extension cord to plug in the shop-vac.

By late afternoon, Robert had cleaned up the sawdust, packed the tools away in the back room, and was beginning the slow and tedious process of unpacking the boxes, and sorting the books out.

Carved wooden signs adorned the various shelves marking out the subjects of books, the construction of which brought Robert an entirely disproportionate deeling of pride and accomplishment. Non-fiction dominated the room, with shelves set aside for history, geography, politics, philosophy, and religion. A section was also labelled as going to eventually contain classic works of fiction.

A smaller, but no less robust section at the back contained Robert's favourite works of fiction: The Science-Fiction and Fantasy. After unpacking a good 5 dozen boxes onto the shelves he came across a leather-bound copy of Don Quixote, one of his favourites, Robert decided to take a short break.

Hauling one of the chairs from the back room, and its matching ottoman, he cracked open a window, to let the smell of sawdust air out and settled down to do some reading.

"Hey, a new bookstore!"

The exclamation of-- well, call it interest, rather than delight-- is coming from the cracked open window, where someone has stuck their face.

The cut of the jaw and arch of the nose says the face is male, though the light mascara and general care and attention to appearance suggests female. The eyes are uninterestingly greyish, but the face is topped by gelled brown hair streaked through with hot pink-- a recent dye, or it would have faded more. The face is grinning.

Not much clothing is visible, but what is appears to be black pinstriped with lime green.

Jay Wallace might not be a bookworm, but he's always interested in new stores.

Looking up from a large leather-bound book, slightly startled at your outcry is a man, probably early thirties, dressed plainly in khakis and an olive green shirt.

"Oh, hello there. You can come in if you like, I'm not really open yet, but I'm certainly not closed."

Robert stands up and sets down the book on the chair he was just sitting in, and walks over, opening the door to the shop.

"Come in, Come in, don't want to let all the heat out. Name's Robert. Robert Bradford.

The lanky-tall figure appears around the door, more of it now visible. The young man standing in the doorway is thin, but the fit body speaks of time soent obsessively in a gym. It's paid off, especially in regards to how the black pinstriped shirt looks clinging tight to his chest, in how the stretchy jeans hand on his legs. You might say he's a girl's dream, but there's something about the neon=pink shoelaces, several plastic pink bangles and the mascara he's wearing that say he's more likely to be a guy's dream.

He grins at the proprietor and steps in, looking around with all the curiosity of a cat.

"I'm Jason Wallace, call me Jay, honey." Yes, he calls even older men by terms of endearment. "This place looks great. It's always fun to see a new shop in."

"Well, I'm glad to have a customer, even if the shop isn't exactly up to starting readiness yet. But really, come on in, have a look around. Non-fiction all along those walls there, fiction in the back. I know there aren't many books in yet, but I've got quite a few more crates in storage."

Stepping back from the door to let you completely inside to have a look around, Robert watches you curiously, both not entirely sure what to make of you, and looking for clues about whether you like the shop or not.

"Just moved here a couple weeks ago, always planned to settle down to a bookstore, maybe do a little research while I was doing it. I don't suppose you're at Keaton at all are you? I've thought about looking up the dean to see about doing some sessional teaching work."

"Don't count on my buying something, I'm just a snoop." This assertion is supported by the way he's craning his head here and there, taking in the details.

"You know, there was a beauty parlor here before. Yeah, I'm at Keaton-- graduate studies, film. It's not a bad university."

Actually making eye contact, Jay offers the bookstore entrepreneur a grin.

"Sessional teaching in what?"

"Well, history, philosophy, or politics would be right in my area of expertise, but for anything in social sciences I'm sure I could contribute something."

Robert smiles back at Jay, continuing to walk around the store, pausing every now and again to straighten a book.

"This was a beauty parlor eh? I had no idea, it was already emptied out when I bought the place." Looking at the place with new eyes, seeing where the rows of styling chairs and sinks had probably gone, Robert wasn't paying any attention to where he was going until he conked his head on a shelf.

"Ooh, geez, I need to watch where I'm going" he exclaimed, rubbing his forehead. "Anyways, I don't suppose you could maybe give me the name of the Dean over at Keaton, or maybe the U's phone number? I think I might go look into that sometime next week."

"Hell, hun, I have no idea."

Jay pulls a book of a shelf at random and flips idly through the pages, his fingers delicate.

"Look in the phone book, I guess, or corner a prof and ask 'em where to send the resumé."

"Well, I guess that's what I'll have to do. Sorry to kick you out and everything, but I think I'm going to close up and head home. Got a lot more work to do in the morning. These books aren't going to shelve themselves.

If you know anybody bookish who might be looking for a part time job once I get the place up and running, feel free to send them by."

"Will do."

With a flippish tip of an imaginary hat, Jay dances towards the door.

"Nice to see your shop and all."

"Well thanks for stopping in, if you hadn't distracted me, I'd have been liable to sit there and read all night. Pop in any time."

Walking with you to to door, closing it behind you as you leave, shutting everything down for the night, Robert puts on his coat, and steps outside, locking the door, and looking proudly at his newest accomplishment.

"Well, I think I can do this. Now to get home before I catch my death of cold."