fiction and non

I was very ambitious in the bookstore. Fearless.

I had to be -- not to buy the Tolstoy, an undertaking in itself, but to go through that narrow unmarked door, trusting that there really would be a public toilet behind it. Facilities intended for public use are usually made public by an arrow or a sign, an open door, at least; this one was completely camouflaged, blended into shelf and wall, sixth floor, password gained with surprising ease, though no access without it. I was one of many to ask; the employees never seemed to tire of having to explain. There was quite an element of humor in it, the needless shroud of mystery, silly secrecy.

Once inside, I thought I was trapped. This was also funny, in a frantic sort of way. The space was very small; the lock I had turned wouldn't turn back. I was about to solicit help from the other side, when, just like that, one small door, and then another, opened, and I was on the other side too.