Online shopping is growing. The instinct to gather hasn't gone anywhere. A look at what's on the calendar and why the store keeps showing up.
We sell books online now. We migrated to a proper e-commerce setup, we ship across the country, and we're glad you can buy a Little Sister's book from your couch at midnight. None of that has changed the other thing we do, which is get people into a room together.
Because here's what forty-three years taught us: this store was never only a store. It was where people came out for the first time. It was a lifeline during the AIDS crisis, when information and company were both hard to find. It was the headquarters of a fifteen-year fight against the federal government. You cannot download that. It only happens when people show up.
So we keep the calendar full — readings, launches, workshops, the free outdoor jazz on summer Fridays, felting drop-ins, community nights where you don't have to buy a thing. An algorithm can sell you a book. It can't introduce you to the person who becomes your friend, or hand you the exact title you didn't know to ask for, or just give you somewhere to be on a hard night.
There's a practical side, too. Independent bookstores survive on being more than a shelf. The events are how a neighbourhood stays a neighbourhood, and how a store like this stays part of people's lives instead of just their order history.
Online is convenient. In-person is the point. We're going to keep doing both — but we're never giving up the second one. Come by. Something's usually on.
