I haven't seen much of you lately, Stranger. You don't drop by like you used to. I understand. It's a manic work-a-day world out there and books, you imagine, will only drag you down. Your days are surfeited (I have a dictionary!) with doing. I understand. Sometimes the same thing happens to me. Like tomorrow, for example. I won't be here for you. Not entirely. Because there are things that need doing. I won't burden you with the wherefores and how-sos, but I'm going to have to shut the shop down early on Saturday; say, around 4pm. And then on Sunday, I won't be open at all. Because I have things to do, Stanger. Better things, apparently. More important things. Like you. So if you're coming, come early. Or not. It doesn't matter. Books are patient creatures. But then, they don't have to eat.