Love Over the Counter
By Wayne Mansfield
Tony Bianchi sat nervously in the small waiting room of the Lovers Bookshop headquarters, although he felt the word ‘headquarters’ was somewhat of an overstatement. The office s***h waiting room was no more than a pre-fabricated lean-to tacked onto the side of a moderately large, corrugated tin warehouse.
What am I doing here? he asked himself; his fingers drumming the cushioned armrest. What are my friends going to say? Not one of the best ideas I’ve had. I should split while I’ve got the chance.
He was about to do just that when the door opened.
A man of about forty, with sandy blonde hair and a deep tan, leaned out.
“Are you Tony Bianchi?”
Tony stood up. “Yes, I am.”
The man looked him up and down. “Come in,” he said, before disappearing
