It was so cold inside the bookstore. The lighting was cozy, but the lack of openings on the walls did now allow him to guess the color of the sky outside the mall, which separated him from reality―something that the clock alone was unable to resolve.
The tall bookshelves made of dark wood felt good to the touch and were nice to look at, even though they gave him the impression that he should be wearing warmer clothes. The speed at which people were walking around caused some discomfort. Most of them were customers coming into the store, approaching to the clearly-labeled shelves and, after a little bit of effort to find what they were looking for, walking back to the cashier with the object of their interest in their hands. There were only one or two people who, like him, browsed through the shelves without asking for help from a salesperson and the computer terminal. He had given it a try once, but if the young girl didn't even know how to type the name he had mentioned, how could he exchange some ideas with her about the author and his work? He'd better look for it himself while walking around aimlessly.