First time to Cafe Shi

Magical bookstores? It was not what I had been looking for so long ago. I had been yelled at by a professor and humiliated, however I proved I was right.

I had had enough. I was walking the streets going to a pharmacy that had a malt shop inside it. Yes, Bozeman Montana still had a malt shop and for five dollars the whole canister along with large malt glass would be mine.

However, it was sunset and right where an alley should lead me to the other side of a street a building appeared. Appeared? Well, I knew my location. I knew where I was going.

And the building was not here last week so I would say just appeared. In the sunset.

The shop was called Portal to Magical books or something like that. Now bookshops in Bozeman are rare. Three of them specific and to have one appear in the alleyway. Well, I had to see what was inside. I entered and the most stunning collection of books I have seen was there.

What makes me a person who knows books? I got lost in the White House once and ended up in their downstairs basement. From there I followed some people into the library of congress and that story is even weirder than this one.

So I knew books. And the collection was wild. Personalized first editions and handwritten books of all shapes and sizes.

Maps of worlds not just a world but worlds and histories told about other times and places.

In the middle of all of this was a person seated behind a table and evidently signing his books.. However, all I could do was to look. He looked rather famous. Something or someone I should know. But I could not place him.

His book? Zen and the Art of Motorcycle Maintenance? Never heard of it. However, it dawned on me where I had seen this person before.

A long time ago in one of my mother's college courses she took to maintain her teacher’s certificate. Yes, I got dragged along to some rather unusual places. He was there discussing with someone in a rather loud voice about..

About what? I don’t recall. But I recall what I was told when I was told after that lecture. Quality is not as important as doing. For quality will determine whether people like it or not. But 85 percent of reality is in the doing not just quality.

Who said that? For some reason, the voice did not seem familiar, and I just gawked.

Anyway, the person got up told someone for I could not see anyone that he was off to eat.

And I followed him. Why? Well, I wondered where would a famous author would eat in Bozeman, Montana?

And?

That at sunset the orange-ish light lighted a building aside the bookstore. The sign Cafe Shi.

And that is how I entered Cafe Shi for the first time. And did I eat with the famous author?

Well, yes and no. The lady who asked how I got there was kind. However, I could swear she looked like a dragon for a moment and then a stylish Chinese lady accepted my answer I was hungry.

For I was hungry.

She seated me around a table with several other people. And that is where I was introduced to Ender. He was dressed like he was going or coming from a Halloween party. He looked sort of like the pirate on the rum bottle and he spoke about the most interesting tales I have ever heard.

And I? I matched him tale for tale. He would tell a story about how the worlds changed and that South America used to be under North America and that treasure here was un findable there because of the great deepest of the ocean.

And I? I would tell him a tale of Butch Cassidy living in Nevada bootlegging rum in the 1920s. We had a lovely time until I noticed we were the only ones left.

He told me stories of worlds where Mongolia was ruled by China. And I told him stories about how Custer had died not in the battle of the little Big Horn.

He told me stories of realities where time was sped up to a point that reality was stretched and people lived 1,000 years in one of our years.

And I told him stories of the train ride in Serbia and Czars, two daughters that escaped execution.

He told me pirate tales and of adventures with some person named Richard Burton.

And I told him tales of authors I had known as a child.

He told me stories of heaven and hell.

And I told him tales of long ago people that very few people knew.

Now between these tales we drank. Ender introduced me to rum. And I ate sweet not sweat and sour shrimp. Beyond that? The hostess was not of this world. Meaning? Like I said she reminded me of a dragon and to see her dance between tables and serve was like watching a waltz. It was lovely. For a time I think I just watched her stylish movements between me, Ender, the author who was talking to some lady about if I recall some vampires? Anyway it was a grand time.

I looked around after eating God knows what and paid the total bill because it was one of those occasions you wanted to last longer. We walked out together at sunrise and I turned to say good bye. The place. The bookstore and everything was as it was before an alley way right behind the pharmacy.

I looked for anything to see if I was dreaming or not, and the only thing I had was two business cards. I did not even have the receipt for the meal I had just eaten.

The two business cards? One said see you next time Magical books R US. And the other Cafe Shi a place to dream and eat.. Did I ever go back there to see it again?

Of course. Was it ever there? No. However, I did find them elsewhere.