Le temps de lire, our library

 
It’s a small shop, with books stacked up everywhere and a cat sleeping in the window. It’s a bookseller who gives her opinion and who puts both her best- and less-loved novels in a conspicuous position – not that a threatening publisher forces her to comply to that end but because the writer’s mother, who lives next door, wants her son’s novel to have pride of place.
 

 
If the title you’re looking for is not in stock, she orders it, just like in any FNAC stores of Paris, except she smiles and doesn’t wear an absorbed look or a greenish-yellow vest, taping away at an out-of-date computer keyboard.
 

 
While waiting for the response of the electronic payment terminal – always a little nervously, an infinite number of books you should have read catches your eye. Wait, I’ll take this one too.