Lost in the Bookstore Stone Stairs

Lost in the Bookstore Stone Stairs

I was back working the closing shift at my old bookstore job, but the back inventory room kept going down a flight of raw stone stairs that definitely isn't in the real shop. It was freezing cold, smelling like damp earth and old iron, and all the regular paperbacks on the bottom shelves were bound in heavy black leather that felt slightly greasy to touch. My old supervisor kept calling down asking why I hadn't finished restocking the register area yet. I was frantically trying to find a barcode scanner that worked, but every time I picked one up, my phone screen would buzz with texts from a contact saved as 'The Landlord' asking if the offering was prepared. I knew I was going to be late meeting my sister for dinner, but the stone corridor felt miles long when I tried walking back toward the breakroom door.