Epilogue
There are mornings I open my fibers and still expect to be in the Bookstore. Other times, I think I can feel Katie’s hair trace lines down my page. I remember my friends at the coffee shop, The Forgotten Ones, and hope they’re happy. Did Sundown ever find his lassie? I only need a hint of cigarette or diesel and I am back at Esmé’s apartment in Paris. Sometimes I think I can still hear Mr. Big or The Mink talking about the dames they see on the street. Other times, I drift to London and Rob’s flat filled with disinterested Books, or Michael’s office, packed with more vampire novels than anyone should survive. A Bob Dylan song and I’m back at the Shakespeare and Company Bookshop, and its stacks of titles. Frank Sinatra’s voice takes me to Samantha’s apartment in New York and a Fre
