Not an HMV but a BMV.

I walked along Bloor Street with no exact destination in mind. I was thinking of how to pass the time when a sign caught my eye; BMV it read. I walked through the giant glass doors for the first time. Hundreds and hundreds of books lined the shelves; it seemed to me that there could be thousands. A guy who I recognized as a regular shopper at Fiesta Farms was stacking books back on the shelf. He was tall, decent looking, and you could tell right of the bat that he enjoyed his job very much by the way he was humming to himself. As I strolled along through each aisle, words on little tags on each shelf jumped out at me: Canadian Literature, Non-fiction, Fantasy, Self-Help, Reference, those were the only ones I could remember.

Brightly lit downstairs but not so much upstairs, I wondered to myself whether it was done so on purpose to create a certain atmosphere. Carpeting hugged the floors as if they knew I was coming and wanted to prevent the clack-clack noise of my cowboy boots. People scurried in and out. No sounds could be heard except for the sound of the constant annoying flipping of the book that the man next to me was holding. Carts of used and new movies were alphabetised according to title. My attention shifted to the sign at the back of the store. “Sell your used books here” it read. I made a mental note of that and walked out of the store.

(written on October 20th, 2009)