Adelaide hadn't changed much in seven years. The plague fires smoked oily in the hills above the city, and the Gillman UFO landing site had yet to be completed. He stepped out onto Rundle Street, his eyes adjusting to the transitional neon-tinged sunset as he scanned for points of reference. Across the street and between coffee shops, a familiar book store declared itself 'Under New Management' - and he slipped towards it through the prowling evening traffic.
A bell tinkled as he opened the door, followed unnecessarily by the donkey deedaw of an electronic alarm. A billion words were piled high under muted fluoros - in stacks, racks and chipboard bins. Anonymous with age, the store owner nodded a single warm nod and continued talking on the telephone. He wandered the racks, dipped his hand in the bargain bins and immersed himself very briefly in the stories he found. The words, black and formic as they crept across the pages, quickly lost their fascination. First words, first paragraphs, first pages - that was all he needed. From there he could extrapolate the contents of a book with a reasonable degree of certainty. He hadn't read a complete book in years, but was still interested in opening lines.
