A weekend foray into the urban wilderness of the Uptown Area in Minneapolis found me prowling the racks at Magers and Quinn booksellers. I don't know if hey really have half a million titles, but they certainly have enough to keep one's mind pleasantly diverted on a cold Saturday in January. In the nether regions I found these old volumes:
Crumbling leather bindings, mostly 19th century periodicals bound for posterity, although it appears that posterity has finally caught up with them. They were being sold for "designers and decorators", for as little as a dollar. Not to read, or, realistically, not wanted to be read by anyone.
In the front of the store, I noticed that the art books were displayed on what appeared to be an old hardware store's bench:
So the display fixtures as well as the books have a second life, hanging on to existence by dumb luck, a limited usefulness, and a quaint charm. I should be so lucky.