In the middle of the day, which is the only time I gravitate towards alleyways, I took a random turn and there it was: seemingly built into the wall was a series of three windows. Outside each was a polite cart of books. In each window stood a shelf, and on the shelves were more books. All different kinds. All selected with taste.
It was one of those days where you back into an alley…only to discover a bookstore.
I chatted with the owner, Wilkinson (surprised?), and he handed me his card. The store, he explained, was inspired by his European travels, where he saw people selling books on the roadside by laying their wares out on blankets. You walk by. You browse. You buy. It’s the kind of idea that can vary between romantic reminiscence or book prostitution, depending on your inclinations.
I found the idea charming, both in concept and execution.