Rolling in the lard tank

I loitered in the back of the bookstore for awhile. The ceiling was falling and the children were all in the back room waiting for dawn to come. They were the children of the books of course, no where to go but down. The bookstore was, as they are, dark, damp, and smelling of mold. Two cats lingered near the mystery section. Two older dudes were clinging to a moldy chair arm. Great stacks of books had lost their balance and had begun to shift to the south. A small arm at the end of the 100 foot aisle was propped against the wall to prevent ultimate disaster. This still didn't bring the stacks up to compliance with local codes. This was no place the weak or the severely allergic, or the claustrophobic, or the generally sensitive.

After filing away several of the cats into a large net-type bag, we left unscathed. The book cats were later found lazily sleeping on some piles of clothes in the second bedroom.