Magic shop

Wandering in and out of the town’s Alleyway, people cram between the small nooks and corridors of the city. Ice crystallizes on the upper lip of some of winter’s victims. Pinpricking the skin, the ice glues itself down to the face. It tears off any hairs that meet with the winter frost. Swerving, the fridged people make their way through the intricacy of bodies.
Hanging off the gutters of a bookstore, are shards of ice. Tumbling, they hit the pavement below, shattering into thousands of glass-like fragments. Light of the moon reflects off them as the rays bounce around the windows in a peculiar manner.
A little old shop sat at the end of the road. A striped red and white awning hangs over the edge, columns spiralling up the sides.
The chime of a bell rings as the door falls ajar, the jingle isnt much louder then the surry of feet. The door closes, all is quiet. Only the sound of scattered movement, shoes rubbing against the torn carpet.
A striking flowered wallpaper hangs off the wall, peeling at the seams. Hundreds of bookcases conceal treasured information about the world of wizardry. Novels stack on top of each other, spilling over the sides of the shelves.
A blast of warm air shoots down from the heat pump thats suspended on the wall, right over the door.
The aroma of musty books swivels around the room. Dust dances as its swept off a book, flying in and around of shelving until falling upon a new novel.
There are eight main shelves that stand out from the rest, each one towering to the ceiling. They buckle under the weight of the books.
The shelves that were once lathered in a mahogany finish are now starting to flake and crack. Some, letting their original colour seep through. If one were to run their fingertips along the grain of the wood, the paint would deteriorate and crumble. Its refurbish was long overdue.
The eight bookcases separated into halves. Four on the left, four on the right. They’re parted in the middle, creating a corridor leading to the counter. There’s a red Persian rug rolled down the centre. It’s tattered from the hundreds of shoes, fraying the exterior.
Behind the counter were paintings of famous wizards, suspended with one nail each. Drooping, they sway with the breeze as a customer enters the bookshop. On the counter near the back was a computer. Storing information about every book that entered the store. A jar of hard caramel – candies sat atop the counter, the children drawn to them. The reminiscence of yesterday’s morning coffee was the only thing sitting in a small cup near the front. Piles upon piles of books, stack on top of each other overflowing the desk. Leaving the store, people carry the weight of their books out through the door.