The shop was a chaos of iron brackets, reclaimed barn wood, and industrial pipes. Marlowe, a woman with gray braids and hands stained with walnut oil, didn't ask for his budget. She asked, "What are they holding?" "Everything," Arthur said. "History, mostly."
That evening, the smell of fresh oak filled Arthur's apartment. As he drove the first screw into the wall, he realized he hadn't just been looking for a place to put his books. He’d been looking for a reason to finally give them a foundation. where can i buy shelves
The old floorboard groaned under Arthur’s feet, a sound as weary as the stacks of books leaning precariously against his skirting boards. He was a man drowning in paper—first editions, dog-eared paperbacks, and loose leaf journals—all colonizing his living room like a slow-moving paper tide. "Where can I buy shelves?" he muttered to the empty room. The shop was a chaos of iron brackets,