Early November, the time of the year when suddenly everyone thinks it'd be adorable if little Susie could play the piano for Christmas carols by mid December. It was nice idea, in thought anyway, in reality, Susie was a terrible pianist without the slightest idea what patience was.
Man, he hated kids.
Chewing on his cigarette, Alec tried to settle his irritation. This year, it'd be different. This year, he'd get the damn brats to do some practice at home, learn at least some of the basics so he didn't have to deal with a complete and total pain the ass mess. Hell, he'd settle for some finger exercises at this point.
He killed the rest of his dying cigarette in a near by ash tray before stuffing his gloved hands in his pockets. The breath escaping his lips was much like the smoke of his cigarette, just hanging there, visible in the cold. Winter was too quickly approaching, taking fall with it like some imaginary dream. Soon, Willa would be even busier than he was, the bakery taking in an insane amount of demands. First, it would be pies for Thanksgiving, and then it'd be cakes and cookies and whatever else Christmas demanded.
The idea of seeing her less frequently didn't sit well with him.
Ahead of him was High Crimes, an old, privately owned bookstore that resided not too far from the Royal Astaire. Alec hadn't frequented it much, if at all, really. Books, while not disliked, weren't a thing he had time for. When Alec had spare time, he preferred to spend it sleeping or cleaning up the apartment, leaving the place a mess was usually enough to keep him from sleeping anyway.
An older man passed by as Alec made to enter the store, hand holding onto his hat. He said nothing to Alec despite almost bumping into him, and Alec made no move to do the same. If they were both going to be rude, then no harm done.
Inside, the book store smelled just as Alec expected it to, although there was the distinct lack of the scent of coffee, despite the espresso machine Alec saw near by. He wondered if the thing had ever been used, looking quite new in comparison to the rest of the place.
Alec removed his gloves and stuffed them in his coat pocket before moving to the desk where a register of a much needed upgrade rested and a girl with a familiar face.
Winifred Hart. She lived a room over from them at the Royal Astaire and was a face Alec had seen quite a few times. Thinking about it, Win might have mentioned she worked at a bookstore, although Alec didn't figure it was High Crimes. It seemed too old, too out of fashion, and he doubted the pay was that great.
And yet here she was.
"Hey." Alec started, eyes glancing over at the ancient register, "You know, you could probably sell that to an antique shop, and get something a bit more modern."