Quite possibly the coolest bookstore ever.
Literally every available surface was covered in books. There was a bookshelf in the bathroom crammed with books in five different languages, and it was awesome.
Yes it is the coolest. And the owner is fabulous, simultaneously suffering no fools (language books in the bathroom because our language skills are in the toilet) while also suffering EVERY fool (zomg books! I was just in the neighborhood for this artisanal salt and latte, doing my Sunday stroll! For Health! And here you are!! Do you have any Dan Brown?). Like a weathered sea captain, he forges on. Writing spoilers on post it’s and sticking them to books he dislikes. Yelling about interesting ones to make sure other customers might hear. Repeating it all. After our very first (!!!) Sunday stroll through the market, my new boyfriend and I wandered in, hand-in-hand and giddily dumb for each other (see also: fools, suffering them). We strolled up to the counter, where Mark had recommended I ask the owner if there were any particularly absurd titles that I was on the hunt for. “Hi! We’re looking for Ina May’s Guide to Childbirth!” My new boyfriend’s hand turned clammy. The owner didn’t rise from his chair, just glanced at our sweaty hand-holding and pointed me to the pile of books back and toward the left - children, childbirth, medicine. He also loudly recommended Our Bodies Ourselves then turned to the next customer, holding a copy of Harry Potter. “Dumbledore dies. Next customer.”
Happy Surprise I’m A Doula Day.