The Bookshop

• 25X30cm, acrylic on board
  
• Free shipping

There’s a certain kind of bookshop you only stumble across in Italy. Hand painted sign, no schedule—just a doorway, a crate of sun-bleached paperbacks, and a man in a hat who may or may not be the owner. 

I didn’t go inside. I liked it better this way: sitting across the street with a coffee, watching the slow rhythm of pages being turned, brows furrowed, then relaxed. It felt less like a shop, more like a quiet ritual unfolding in the sun.