He and I drove down MLK drive on a Saturday in Autumn.
Leaves of colors all sorts of magnificent colors paved the way.
It’s obvious that season is my favorite and it’s no question why.
That statement only really applies to him and I.
Wonderful smells filled the air and weaved back and forth through my long hair.
Great collaboration of the one and only Morrissey,
Played on the radio he filled the seat between you and me.
We circled and circled University square
‘Look I said you can park there’
Now comes the search for quarters, I find plenty of pennies, nickels and dimes, but quarters are always a rarity;
We found just enough for an afternoon to the masters.
The masters of color and precision, and of creating great beauty and preserving images that he or I would have never seen.
We walked past the contemplating man who had been vandalized, and the beauty of his vandal sunk in.
Even broken he was still a masterpiece and that I believe gave us hope.
We saw beautiful Picassos and Van Gough as well as Matisse and Monet.
My eyes lit up in the east wing even though the room of Rodin’s sculptures smelled too much like a hamster’s cage, I just couldn’t ignore it. So many people were trying to be artsy and observant and all I could focus on was the awful smell.
I wanted to enter the featured exhibit,
To see the beautiful work of a true French artist.
However my pocket did not contain the funds for such an event.
I kept running the thought through and through my head,
The picture of a woman lying in her bed,
She represented so many things
Elegance more so and angel with no wings.
Who pictured such a beauty was she real or imagined?
These are questions I asked to him,
Rhetorical of course.
And maybe that’s the true beauty of art.
Perhaps it’s a combination of things,
Actually I’m sure of it.
But the mystery behind each picture is unique to every artist.
He and I grew tired of walking through such a huge building.
But neither of us wanted to be the one to say it was time to go.
But in one breathe I popped the question and we finally were on our way home
When out of the blue I spotted a sign that read “two dollar book store”
I thought perhaps that it was a play on words or some type of trick.
Like Dollar General when in all actuality things are generally more than a dollar.
Parking was scarce and neither of us knew our way around
He and I parked at a Popeye’s, and walked over a couple streets to check the store out.
Inside we found hundreds and hundreds of books, good books too.
This was no Barnes and Nobles and nothing like Borders.
It was a mass amount of books organized by however this guy thought suitable.
I quickly learned that this store had never been introduced to Dewy decimal.
I didn’t even see anyone in it at first.
I projected ‘hello’ eager to start my exploration of this store of so many things to find.
When the owner introduced himself he was so nice.
He showed us around the poetry section and some of our interested topics.
He told us about how busy he once used to be and how wasn’t anymore.
It made so much sense considering his store along with the Italian grocery store and Popeye’s were the only businesses in a 3 or 4 block radius.
But what I observed was that this was a store that had witnessed Cleveland in it’s prime.
So much like an elder of its area.
I bought way more books than I was ever going to read but I just couldn’t get over how many interesting things that were tucked away in this store.
You know I’ve always loved to thrift and every book I found was a one of a kind and just for me because I found it.
The great thing about going was that I never knew what I was going to get.
I would buy books on various topics poetry, psychology, Language, and UFO’s.
I even once bought the Devil’s Dictionary which is a hilarious read if you ever get the chance.
Chris, the owner became a friend of ours.
He would light up a cigarette and ash in an old thermometer as he told us about different books and ideals.
We had created a routine, stop at the west side market, visit our friend Chris and fill up our book shelves when we got home.

I moved to Seattle and then to Myrtle Beach and back to Avon Lake and a whole summer passed.
I was in the area of the Two Dollar Store and I thought I would stop in for old time sake.
And I noticed the chains on the door.
Chris had gone out of business; I do not know where all of his books went or what he even did with them. But I felt a sense of guilt for abandoning such a great place. You don’t know what you’ve got until it’s gone had never applied more to me.
I knew that only a few people would care about the hole in the wall that had been closed.
Chris, I wish I could tell you how he is but not even I know.
To tell you the truth maybe it’s a good thing he could leave his old shop behind.
He used to talk about traveling the world as he did when he was younger, perhaps he’s doing that.
Maybe in the back of my mind I know he’s not off too well but if there’s no way of knowing I might as well think positive, right?