The Ink Spot [Friday]
Jun. 6th, 2025 12:49 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
![[community profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/community.png)
After being blocked into his apartment last Thursday with enormous trunks labeled "THOMAS" and "MIRANDA" and "THE GODDAMN BRITISH NAVY", Flint had not been fit for company for a week.
(Leaving the building only to get coated in goo on Wednesday had reinforced that hermit-y impulse.)
But alas, the wheels of capitalism ground on, and so he might even attempt to sell a book today. He'd unlocked the shop's door, after all, and he still had a small-ish bookcase of books he'd read and didn't care for.
Every other book he was keeping, though. Small steps.
The Ink Spot was open. Sort of.
(Leaving the building only to get coated in goo on Wednesday had reinforced that hermit-y impulse.)
But alas, the wheels of capitalism ground on, and so he might even attempt to sell a book today. He'd unlocked the shop's door, after all, and he still had a small-ish bookcase of books he'd read and didn't care for.
Every other book he was keeping, though. Small steps.
The Ink Spot was open. Sort of.