The Bookshop - Writing

So...sitting with a large mug of lapsang souchong, listening to the hauntingly beautiful vocals of Chelsea Wolfe...and a pen and paper in hand. I started to see an idea forming in my mind; the perfect bookshop. So I recommend that whilst reading this, you light some incense, and put on a song from the album 'Beauty is Pain' - this will really help get you guys into my head. I would love to own a shop like this;

- As you push open the heavy, wooden door, a bell tinkles unseen above your head. The air inside stills suddenly as the door swings shut. The heady fragrance of mingled incense assults the nostrils, as the thin wispy trails of circling smoke, dance through the still, motionless air. 
Slowly your eyes will adjust to the dim candlelit room. Tiny flickering flames lapping patiently at nothing. Hung by the door on an antique hat stand, is a coat. A coat that might once have been described as plum. The coat was always there, just hanging - though nobody ever put it on when they left, or hung it up when they arrived. The coat that got left behind. Forgotten by a woman who lost herself in a sea of books, and then lost track of the time. 
 All you can see from the door is books; shelf upon shelf, stack upon stack, pile upon pile. There was no order or discipline here. And there-in lay the joy. You could not search for authors last name by an alphabetical code, nor could you select a specific genre to browse, it would be very unlikely even, to find the accompnying books to a series in one single pile. Removed from your comfort zone, you are left free, floating by candlelight into the unknown. 
 If you dared venture into the labyrinth - dodging and weeving between perilously perched stacks - you would find your minatour, not in it's heart, but in the back left corner. A corner smothered in oversized mismatched cushions, and draped in exotic fabric of all colours and textures. A small record player stood to the side. From it emitted the haunting vocals - songs of love and nature, foreign worlds and witchcraft. You are free to lay yourself down in a nest of pillows and read, or simply take in the atmosphere and the music. If you did choose to lay down, you could look up into a small pool of fairy lights, feathers hung for hundreds of tiny dreamcatchers...and if you looked close enough beneath the drapery, you could just make 
out words inscribed in the ceiling. A mix of sharpie quotes from famous books, some even etched straight in with a  pen knife. Beside you is a very low to the ground desk. It is here that the minatour resides, having trapped herself in this maze of other worlds. Atop the dark red desk, stands a magnificent, ancient cash register. Ornate golf patterns are carved around the little glass window, where little pieces of card pop up to inform you of your total cost. 
 And if you decided that indeed you wanted to purchase a book; an unknown novel, or a work of non-fiction you didn't even know you were interested in, then these items will first be tightly wrapped in a brown paper bag. Next, some vintage inspired wrapping paper, brocade and blue tits most weeks. Lastly, the whole package will be tied up with a stretch of tea-stained lace, and a buisness card will be tucked under the bow.