There's Sarah, a Clifford fan who comes in with her dad most weekends. Harry, who loves books with his name in the title. (We've exhausted the likes of Harry the Dirty Dog for now, but just wait until he grows into Harry Potter.) Jacob and Ethan, who stop by with their nanny and then head to Magic Beans.
And there are countless others whose names I haven't caught yet. The girl who sits on the floor and reads Rainbow Magic books, apparently too excited to take the time to walk to a stool. The quiet preteen who browses the Young Adult shelves and occasionally rolls her eyes at her noisier peers. The young gentleman who comes on Sundays in his church clothes, who has offered to write shelftalkers and once rushed to my aid when I (don't tell anyone) dropped a couple of books.
Don't try to tell me the bookstore habit is for retirement. I know a few unretiring Wimpy Kid enthusiasts who would beg to differ.
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