It 's raining. He 's half-soaked from his walk from the train station. Almost 5pm, and the late autumn means the city is already dark, but the lights are burning warm and bright within his destination, nestled between other shops covered in scaffolding and tarp. There are stacks of crooked books, leather bound and old, and newer too, cheap and compact with glossy printed covers, ready to be tucked into a soldier 's pocket and taken to the front.

He might be too late.

It will shut at 5pm,