Chapter 3277 (2/2)

For a person, being forgotten by others may be one of the most terrible things, but if he becomes the source of fear, people will always think of themselves when they are afraid.

With a burst of black feathers falling, an old man with white hair and beard suddenly appeared in an alley. He was wearing a tight leather windbreaker with a large feather collar as decoration. Although he no longer looked young, his black high leather boots seemed full of punk meaning.

In addition, he also holds a round headed carved walking stick, which looks like an English Gentleman coming out of a Steampunk world.

There was a flash of red light in his pupils. His eyes scanned the street and found his destination. It was a second-hand bookstore at the corner of the street. At this time, the light was still on, just like a lighthouse in the night.

The name of the bookstore is also very interesting. It's called 1001 pages.

However, it was obvious that the old man didn't know the stem. He just walked through the deserted street with a crutch. The cold wind at night seemed to walk around him. He was upright and should not use a crutch at all.

”Ding Ling.”

The copper bell on the door rang with the action of opening the door. Behind the counter of the bookstore, a fat boss with glasses put down his mobile phone and looked at the door.

”Mr. Willett?”

”It's Wales, thank you, although it's no difference.” the old man walked to the counter, shook hands with the shopkeeper with a slightly unfamiliar gesture, as if he had never shook hands with anyone, and said, ”we talked on the phone. You know what I'm coming for.”

”Oh, of course.” the shopkeeper bypassed the counter and smiled and took the old man to the bookshelf area in the back: ”I don't meet such a tasteful collector every day. At the same time, I'm so generous. I've been waiting for you.”

There is some smell of ink in bookstores, but second-hand bookstores are different from libraries. The most common thing here is the strange smell of paper after mildew.

Second hand bookstores are more like antique shops in essence. The only difference is that collections are only various books and do the business of reselling cultural relics.

”Oh, thank you so much. The night in Los Angeles is not so calm.” the old man followed the shopkeeper with his back hands, like an ordinary guest, looking at books on the shelves on both sides of the aisle.

They have no value, at least ordinary ancient literary books are useless to him.

”Do you know those things, too? Yes, you do have a deep study of fantasy literature.” the shopkeeper rubbed his belly. After asking questions, he seemed to think of something, answered himself, and talked about the city with a smile: ”They all say that Los Angeles is a transit point between hell and the world, and demons will walk in the street at night and eat people's souls like jelly. However, I have lived here for 60 years and have never seen any demons or ghosts.”

The shopkeeper stopped. At this time, they were located in the deepest part of the store. There was a safe. He opened it and took out a wooden box. It was very old at first sight. The slurry on it was shiny, as if someone often played with it.

”Well, maybe it's just a legend. Is this what I want?”

The old man stopped talking about angels and demons. He was not interested in those. Because God was dead, what should the rootless duckweed pay attention to?