Halloween rather liked his name. It was a very strange name indeed, but he liked having this touch of eccentricity. According to his own opinion, he was not that interesting if it was not for this peculiarity.

The date was Thursday, the 21st of October 2017, and Hal was not thinking about his name at all. He was walking in the streets of London in wet conditions, wondering if he had enough time to visit St Pancras Old Church the following week.

He walked a bit more, turned left in York Street and pushed the door of the agency.

He greeted Shirley, the receptionist, and rushed into the locker room. He was not really late, but far from being in advance.

- Let me guess, Richard said when he came out. You were finishing your sentence, and as usual, it was ten lines long.

Hal smiled and sat on the stool prepared for him. Actually, he was finishing his page, but of course he didn’t say so.

He struck a pose, turned slightly according to the photographer’s instructions and focused on the shooting. A prêt-à-porter brand wanted him to present some pieces of their spring collection, and he was glad it took place inside. Usually, he was freezing in shorts in the icy streets of January, or on the contrary boiling in a coat under spotlights by 30°C.

- I have an offer for you from Calvin Klein.

- I thought I was too thin for underwear?

- It doesn’t seem to bother them, but developing some muscles would not harm.

- No thanks.

They spent one more hour discussing his timetable and organisation, then Hal went out of the agency. St Pancras Old Church was fully back in his mind. He walked for a while and entered in the most dangerous street of London to him, thanks to its little second-hand bookshop.

He knew he should leave this place as soon as possible, but he managed to convince himself of the absolute necessity to check that his fly was correctly closed. He stopped right in front of the shop window to reflect on it.

Hal was tall and skinny, with a very pale skin and bright red hair.

His fly was alright. He stroked his hair, pulled his glasses up – he had big old-style glasses with a golden frame – and was about to leave when his eye caught an old book with a black leather cover.

He tried to convince himself he was entering only for a glance, but it didn’t work this time. The trick was probably too old, and you cannot cheat with yourself for too long anyway. But he came in the shop nevertheless.

A warm smell of old paper surrounded him, and he breathed with an obvious delight.

- My young friend! the bookseller shouted out. I haven’t seen you for such a long time!

- Well, I have a student loan, Hal laughed, and your bookshop doesn’t help me saving at all.

The bookseller was a short old man, bold and paunchy, with semi-circular glasses. He was fond of Hal.

- Good. I don’t know any rich great man, no matter what those damned Americans say. Take a seat behind the counter, I bring us some tea.

The counter had nothing of a counter except its name: it disappeared almost completely under piles and piles of books. It would have been much fairer to call it wall, shelter or hut.

Hal loved this place. The bookseller maximised the small space he had as much as possible, thus the shelves had something of a labyrinth and piles of books as tall as the room covered the rare empty spaces of wall. You had to be very careful to not make anything drop, especially when you drank some tea.