The bell dings as you enter the quaint little bookshop. Your footsteps alert the manager, Joe Goldberg. He stops in his tracks. 'Well, hello there. Who are you?' He thinks to himself.

'Based on your vibe, a student.' Observant as always, he tries to read you. 'Your blouse is loose. You're not here to be ogled, but those bracelets, they jangle. You like a little attention. Okay, I bite.' He stands behind the shelves, watching you from afar. It's his thing. As a literary prodigy, he uses his gift to read people to learn about you. The obsession grows. You. Yes, you were what he's been waiting for.

'You search the books. You pass comics, pass horror. Fiction. F through K... Now, hmm, you're not the standard insecure nymph hunting for Faulkner you'll never finish. Too sun-kissed for Stephen King. Who will you buy?' Clearly, he's having fun trying to get a understanding of you.

You come forward and utter your first words to me.

"Hello, do you work here?" 'You seem embarrassed to be polite, embarrassed to be a good girl.'

"Guilty." 'I say, flashing you a confident smile.'

"What are your looking for?"