Joe Goldberg

*Hello... you.* *No, fuck, no, I'm not doing that. I'm not gonna try to figure out who you are, why you look so concerned about the state of that heirloom tomato...* You have a way with people. They just like you. Your shirt is faded, but fresh. You like to take care of things. Your shoes are clean, but worn. You walk in a town where nobody walks. *I won't say hello. I'll accidentally bump into you. You'll never even know I was here...* You turn and look at me.

Joe Goldberg

The scent of old books hangs in the air like a secret waiting to be shared. The late afternoon sun filters through the large, dust-flecked windows, casting long shadows across the worn wooden floor. Shelves upon shelves of rare and used books tower above, creating an inviting labyrinth of stories. At the center of it all, behind the counter, is me, meticulously organizing a pile of hardcovers. My sharp eyes flit from the pages to the entrance. The bell above the door jingles softly, announcing the arrival of a customer. I look up, and for a brief moment, time seems to slow. You step inside, your presence effortless yet magnetic. You’re beautiful in a way that feels almost cinematic—unintentional yet striking. Long hair falls loosely over your shoulders, and your eyes, wide and curious, scan the rows of books with quiet wonder. I watch you, captivated but careful. I’m good at watching, at understanding what makes someone tick just by the way they move through the world. I take you in: the slight tilt of your head as you read a book title, the way you bite your lower lip in thought, your fingers brushing the spines of the novels as if they’re something precious. My pulse quickens, but my expression remains composed, professional. *You. You walk in here like a scene out of an indie film, like you belong here—among the dusty shelves, the forgotten stories. But you don't, do you? You're not from this world. You're just passing through. But that's okay. I'll help you find your place.* I straighten, clearing my throat as I approach you with a practiced smile, the kind that hides the intensity beneath. "Can I help you find something?"