Every spring, she starts writing a story; every autumn, she tears it up, eating almond chocolate with potato chips. Together. She can say in less than a minute all the names of the authors that start with an “F”. She works in an old, historical library, frequented by poets, academics, elderly bon viveurs, and crime fiction writers. And one of their killers. Her bergères have faint stains from Lady Chat’s favorite brandy—yes, just Chat, because she talks a lot. Giko the cat is a permanent tenant, but Minie the spider is just passing by on her way to the storage room. The smell of the old books has a hint of vanilla-flavored coffee. When it rains, the old library becomes a visual poem.