I’m sitting in a neat little bookstore and coffee shop — a cosy little nook off the main drag in a small town just outside of Louisville. The owner said they closed at 6, but she didn’t mind me and Katie hanging around for a little while longer while she caught up with clean up and closing.
There are Christmas carols playing on the radio, Katie is playing with their Lego table set and I’m writing a bit. Other than the owner, there’s no one else here. It feels very much like a storybook place from a good book. The mix of old books, roasting coffee beans and ancient hardwood floors sings a General Store tune with the clang of a spittoon to keep the rhythm.