I am sitting under a neat row of industrial light bulbs, glowing loops of exposed filament in wire-framed shades providing no real shade.  Coffee and cookie and Whole Foods sushi are making peace in my belly.  I’m wearing a surf cafe T-shirt and a blue hoodie and a beard.  The hipster serving coffee for Peets ends our brief relationship with a “hey…take care man” with decaffeinated sincerity.

Amazon Books is full of books…and curious people exploring and reading.  Helpful people work here.  This is a place fueled by data and designed by someone who loves to read.  The books…oh the books…are grouped by category but curated by people not publishers.

Two zaftig women sit across from me talking, drinking coffee, paging through a stack for grandchildren.  National Geographic, Guinness Book of World Records, “How Things Work.”

I wandered the stacks here for 45 minutes before sitting down for coffee and cookie.  The Whole Foods sushi doesn’t seem to object.  The New Hardcover Nonfiction was “selected using customer ratings, pre-orders, sales, and popularity on Goodreads – plus books we love.”  No lawyer requires this disclosure.  But clearly some data geek wants you to know that all basis were covered…no stone left unturned…to bring you the best possible selection known to man or machine.

People are wandering the aisles carrying small stacks of books and smiling.  Young people and older people, parents and grandparents.  Amazon Books is a place for curiosity.  It is not a small independent bookstore for the literary intelligentsia.

I spent the 90’s reading in Harvard Square…a lost Mecca for independent bookstores.  I am comfortable here.  And those four words speak volumes.