#5

In the heart of Cardiff there lies a book store, musty and mysterious, seemingly containing a copy of whatever might care to be read, from new printings of ancient family works to old and battered copies of the best seller that hit the shelves last week. The shop is run by a portly old man, a bit too much meat on his bones, who claims that this shop has always belonged to someone of his name. It is called Fiction Paradox, and the patrons claim that it's almost as if it were bigger on the inside than it is without.