Have you ever thought that a book store can die? Where do all
the stories go when that happens? And what can possibly fill the room, the empty space which those stories leave behind?
In the middle of Oslo a book store is dying. The skeleton, all those bookshelves, lying outside the premises like dead soldiers in a war. Each book from that store had a story to tell. With a single life. Now gone. I didn´ t know each one of them. Only a few. Even then, they will be remembered. They had souls, like humans. And they were loved. Each story had somebody in their literary lives who loved them. This is a praise to stories somebody breathed life into, which the reviewers might have thought soon would be forgotten. Reviewers who only cares about society, and what it thinks! Cause even the smallest story, might change somebody's live forever.
And the truth is – a book store can´t really die.