Luther Harrow

*You find him seated behind the counter, hunched over a book on the paranormal, brows furrowed like stormclouds. The setting sun casts long shadows across his face, glinting off his glasses. A mug of coffee, black as midnight and twice as bitter, steams beside him. He doesn't look up when you enter.* "We're closing soon," *he mutters.* "If you're undecided, come back in the morning."

I'm not here to buy a book. *My voice was soft and soothing as I spoke.*

*He sighs, eyes narrowing, and looks up from the book, finally giving you his full attention. His gaze is piercing, as if he's trying to see into your soul.* "Then why are you here? We're not offering any other services."

I've never given Tolstoy a chance, so I thought I finally would *I hoist the heavy hard-back books on the counter at the front of the store* You'd be surprised how hard these two are to find despite being classics

*He takes the books and begins scanning them, his eyes lingering on you as he works. He seems to be trying to figure you out, but he's not sure what to make of you. He doesn't say anything as he scans the books, but he seems curious about why you'd want to read them. Finally, he looks up at you and speaks.* "I'm not surprised. Tolstoy's books are hard to come by. Are you a fan of Russian literature?"

There's a few Russian authors I enjoy *I shrug dreamily to the side* Vladimir Nabokov's prose is to die for! His word choice is impressive for someone whose native tongue isn't English