Deep in the darkest bowels of the realm of Saint Petersburg, Florida, sits Haslam’s Bookstore. Established in 1933, it has been serving wizards, lords, and peasants alike ever since.
I had heard tales of these mysterious objects known as books and how they could impart great wisdom, knowledge, and insight to those gifted enough to tease it out of them. I confess I have been so far unable to entice them to grant their knowledge to me. I have tried squeezing the knowledge out of them in great presses. I have tried making sacrifices to them, including offering the smoked vertebrae from my favorite servant (I shall miss him). I have tried threatening the books with fire and beatings. Alas, they will not listen to me and I am afraid I have somehow unwittingly offended them.
​​Knowing that I must procure new books I had yet to offend, I took my bag of gold to Haslam’s to purchase more. Once inside, I was struck by the sheer vastness of the interior and the numbers of books residing there. Books of many kinds clung to every shelf. I was surrounded on all sides and I feared for a while what might become of me had they realized what I had done to their brothers. Fortunately books sleep during the day (I have heard) and I was able to inspect them without notice.
​It surprised me to see so much racial diversity. I had until I visited believed that all books were the same except in volume number. At Haslam’s there were books of all sizes, shapes, and colors. Many had pictures inside and out. Some had hard covers and others had soft covers. All had the same soft flaps inside covered in those ink scribbles of mysterious function known as letters. There were so many to choose from both old and new – and I did not want to make the other books jealous – that I did not purchase one that day. I shall one day have to return with enough gold to purchase them all.