Rust Belt Bookstore

Walk in the door at Rust Belt, and you step into a teetering world of books stacked, shelved, tucked, loaded, and piled high as a cocker spaniel.  The atmosphere is dark and arty, the books are papery and plenty; there is lots to look at and search for.  Wear comfortable clothes, you'll be bending sideways to read titles filling the half-lit walls, in the murkier corners of the castle bulwarks.  Books here climb into your lap or perch on a shoulder, waiting for adoption or at least a nod of recognition.  It is a sort of separate world you enter when visiting.

I found two to come home with me, but even then I was in no hurry to leave and poked at the titles from all over the city, discarded editions favored by people with ideas.  It is a nice little bookstore in the heart of Allentown, with a knowledgeable proprietress, errant lamps for illumination, and artistic commentary that lets you know that this is not the mall.  You will be happily amazed at the number and depth of books, certainly rival to any shiny bookshop that fronts popular text.

A book can be a bandage for disillusion, a place to lose yourself until you look up from the page and remember.  Books took me far and away from the whirligig mechanisms of feckless edicts broadcast night, day, and twice on Sunday.  They still do, they still are the heavy, warm pages of paper and board with stories put forward by authors who want to share what they know with you and me.

No electronic device will ever replace the affectionate relationship we tactile humans have with genuine books.  Picture an image of a child taking an electronic notebook to bed, then compare it with that child taking a real book to read under covers.  I dunno, maybe it's a sentimental idea; I just wonder about the day that the electricity goes off, from say a blizzard, a hurricane, or like that outage which took out the Eastern seaboard grid in 2003, due to aging equipment.

I shall read tonight, after this entry and dishes done.  A soup is on the stove for a light supper, the rest of the cookies were baked, and animals fed.  Tomorrow is to be a busy day, but there will be an arrest of the clock's hands when I open the page to read thoughts of echoes, from people in another age.  Hear, and attend, and listen O Best Beloved.  Good night.