Where the Wild Things Are


It was quiet last night and I thought I might close the shop early, there was only a taxi waiting across the road, the car park was empty and the whole railway station silent.

But then, a mother and three small children burst in and the children stopped abruptly to tell me some important news. They said that the middle sister was not allowed to have a book today because she had run across the road when they were meant to just walk. The middle child said that this was not true but her mother suggested that it might actually be true.

They worked through the shelves and across the tables and around the stacks and made speedy and loud choices. They were pleased to have found Matilda by Roald Dahl. The middle sister stood with crossed arms and regarded me impassively. She said that next time she doesn’t run across a road she will get Inkheart because she likes the green lizard on the front.

When they all left, pushing out into the quiet, I saw the middle sister dash across the road again and stand by the car, waiting for her outraged siblings and her grim mother.

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