When I was a child, there was a little bookshop around the corner from my apartment. It had a bright blue door, and strange faces carved into the lintel. It looked so out of place next to the other storefronts on that street.
Whenever I walked by, I imagined it was a doorway to another world. I was always disappointed when I stepped through and found myself in a claustrophobic little room jammed floor to ceiling with yellowing old books.
But the owner would pull one down, hand it to me, and send me to a new world after all.

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