The best thing about his job? The silence; the deafening, prolonged, sweet silence. The bookshop on Elm relatively forgotten (or so it appears to Archie) allowing him the freedom to lounge against a bookshelf at any given hour ... reading Baldwin in favor of getting any actual work done. A stale cup of coffee cooling at his side. Luckily, old Mrs. Langley doesn’t seem to mind; truthfully, she’d seemed surprised when he’d requested a job to begin with. “We don’t get many customers these days,” She’d explained hesitantly, “What with all the social media. Your generation would prefer to twitter than read a classic, it seems.” Archie being the exception, of course. Though, he keeps busy all the same ... alphabetizing, and dusting, and rearranging the aisles; occasionally, making Mrs. Langley lunch when her hip begins to particularly ache (the old woman living just above the store.) And though he’s only just convinced the woman that payment in the form of butterscotch candy is not acceptable ... it’s the ideal work environment. Archie often preferring solitude. Which is why he all but jumps (understandably so) as he’s suddenly face to face with another; his first logical thought going to ghosts. Though, he supposes a customer would make more sense. “Shit --” Archie swears eloquently, his coffee cup tipping as he attempts to scramble up from the floor; a brown puddle beginning to form beneath his feet. And with that, he cards a hand through his already disheveled hair. “Fuck. Can I --- sorry. Can I help you?” He questions. “Haven’t had to do this whole -- customer service thing yet. So, y’know. Excuse the --” Archie trails off with a glance over his shoulder. “Anyways. Were you looking for anything specific?” He pauses. “-- If you’re here about the late bills, Mrs. Lang swore she’d mail the money in by Tuesday.”
