The Last Station Books

Books | DISPATCH By Scott Evers

What is it about some places in this world? Is it just me? As I walk from my truck through the parking lot to this bookshop in the middle of fuckin' nowhere I feel almost beside myself with joy. Well, settle in, ladies and gentlemen. You too are about to experience something not unlike... magic.

[door bell]

Funny thing.

Folks ask where The Last Station Books is.

Couldn't rightly tell you.

Head north till the highway gets embarrassed about calling itself a highway. Turn where the peach stand burned down. Pass the mailbox somebody painted like a trout. If you come to the feed store that's making stained glass these days, you've gone a little too far. Come back to the little road nobody pronounces the same way twice.

It's right there.

Or it isn't.

Seems every time I come, the moon's just a sliver. Don't know if that's biology or coincidence. Maybe Virginia Blackwood only opens when the moon gets skinny.

There she is.

Beautiful night.

—

—

Off somewhere with sand worms, I'd guess.

I'll leave her be.

Virginia isn't much of a talker. Thinks people come here to read, not explain themselves.

Used to be a gas station.

Now it fills people with different things.

[footsteps on concrete]

Mercy.

Beloved.

The Left Hand of Darkness.

The Presentation of Self in Everyday Life.

Merle's Door.

Should've brought Rocky.

She'd love the smell of this place.

Old paper.

Dust.

Somebody's pipe tobacco from twenty years ago.

Dogs know when something's been loved.

Hold on...

Lisa's glasses.

Can't read a blessed thing without 'em tonight.

[book opens]

Well I'll be damned.

The Stranger.

That's my name.

My old address, too.

Sold this fellow years ago.

Didn't know I'd miss him till just now.

Back into the basket you go.

Another dispatch from Scott Evers. Read for you by Geezer III.

Funny thing.

Sometimes books find their way home before people do.

Thought they'd have 2666.

Twenty-six sixty-six.

Started it twice.

Keeps getting away from me.

They do have *By Night in Chile.*

Close enough to wave across the aisle.

There's Cioran.

A Short History of Decay.

No...

My heart's not in shape for you tonight.

Leonard Cohen.

Now there's a man who knew poems ought to leave a little room for silence.

[phone rings]

—Fred.

—no, i'm not home.

—i'm at that old bookstore.

—

—no, not the one in town.

—you'd never find this place.

—

—found *Merle's Door.*

Thought about you.

—

—no, Rocky still hasn't read it.

Though she's got the spirit of the thing.

...

Never once had a dog ask me what I thought about Camus.

[laughs]

He's right.

Books never made a dog love you any more.

They just make you a little more likely to notice when the dog's been trying all along.

[book slips]

Damn.

There now.

Will you look at that.

Cutest little mouse climbing the history shelves.

Thought you were a bat.

Carry on.

[pages turning]

Can't stand these dust jackets anymore.

Everybody shouting.

Every cover trying to be louder than the book inside.

I buy hardcovers.

Throw the jacket away.

Book settles down after that.

Lisa used to laugh at me.

Said I undressed books before reading them.

Maybe I did.

There's *We Killed Mangy Dog.*

Lord...

Can't believe they printed something that honest.

And who picked that cover?

Mercy.

[phone rings]

—Lauren.

—I found another bird book.

—

—no, i'm not buying it.

—thought of you, though.

—

—you remember that hawk?

...

Yeah.

I remember.

Funny how books do that.

You go looking for one story.

Come home with another.

Or somebody else's.

Virginia's turned another page.

Hasn't looked up once.

—

—yes.

Same hairdo.

You little weirdo.

—

—reckon she's halfway across another galaxy by now.

—

—love you too.

Bye.

There's Deaf Republic.

Didn't come here looking for poetry.

Seems poetry had other plans.

[phone rings]

—Luke.

—found something made me think of you.

—

—Deaf Republic.

—

—i figured you'd tell me to buy the theology instead.

...

No...

I hadn't thought of it that way.

...

You're probably right.

Hospital'll teach a fellow that.

Prison gate too.

...

Making room for somebody...

Before they know where they belong.

...

Thanks, Luke.

[chair creaks]

Oh yes.

You, my friend.

Old leather chair's still under the garage-door chain.

Been waiting for me.

Thought I'd read the first page.

Instead...

I'm just going to sit here a minute.

Virginia turns another page.

The little mouse disappears behind Steinbeck.

Bell over the door.

Somebody else found the place.

Funny thing.

Most of the people who've changed my life never knew I existed.

Some lived down the road.

Some lived a hundred years ago.

Didn't seem to matter much.

[page turns]

Well...

Let's see what you've got.