One of the most amusing things for North is how people who have lived for fifty or more decades always say things to him about ‘kids these days’ and ‘in my times’. They also often complain about how much shorter the day seems, and how quickly the years go by. In a way, he figures it makes sense. When you’re two years old, a year is half of your entire life! When you’re five, it’s a fifth. So by the time you’re seventy … well, a year can seem to go by very quick. However, when you’ve lived for longer than anyone has cared to count, an opposite effect begins to happen. Time passes by just as it should. Maybe it’s because it can no longer affect you that you two become friendlier acquaintances. You can learn to appreciate its rhythm and everything it takes and brings. Or at least he has. Otherwise, his situation could get maddening.
Still, he can’t deny there are days where a very huge past can become a very huge burden. Memories, rather than well-organized books on a bookshelf, become the countless tiny mosaic tiles adorning the floor. Sure, some spots remain clearer and a few dust up in the shadows, but they altogether become a tiresome thing to pick apart one by one. On those days he likes to do a little sweeping. Even polish up the most forgotten ones. And those, much like tiles, tend to be the oldest, most valuable ones.In order to do so properly, he likes to do it through the oldest and most perfect machine there is: books. Computers and i-theses and i-whats, ingenious as they seem to him, lack the history and kinship he shares with books. They’re the one thing that’s barely changed!
As this was one of those days, he decides to close shop on his shop and head for a different one. A book one. Just to try his luck he enters one that’s completely new to him, and wanders around for a bit. He browses through the bestsellers – just what are people into nowadays? – and picture books. When he feels like he’s seen enough of now and reminds himself yesterday is what he’s looking for. Heavy stomps as usual and he heads for the counter. Surely his steps are warning enough, but just to make sure he won’t startle the young man behind it, he clears his throat.
“Afternoon! Got anything on cossacks?”
@ofquondam ♡ ’d