A Bookshop

Alone in this bookshop, handling probably the last books of our time, I wait. I don’t even thin we have customers anymore. Drifting off to sleep behind the counter, the silver chiming of the bell above the shop door stirs me from my slumber. I look to see what unsuspecting soul has wandered into our shop. He’s young, maybe two hundred, his communicator has already been implanted and computer jacks take up most of his wrist. Wandering among the shelves, he looks out of place, lost perhaps. I don’t think he’s ever been in a bookshop before.

“Excuse me,” he inquires, “How do you work this?” The robotic drone of his voice surprises me and I stutter, “well… you open it, usually to page one, and read it.”

“Read?” he asks, “Is there an upgrade for that?”

“Umm no,” I reply.

“Oh, in that case I’m not interested,” he sighs.

As he exits, I hear him mutter, “I wanted entertainment, not some stupid book.