A row of painted brick storefronts speaks to me. I just moved to Salt Lake City, but I can imagine how this small street in the Sugar House neighborhood might have felt before the modern offices and stucco apartments moved in. One of the stores catches my eye with a bright red façade, striped awning and rooftop sign, tucked between an antiques shop and a defunct plumber’s office. I’ve been wandering the streets, feeling disoriented after leaving home for the first time. A bookstore seems like a natural place to find my bearings.

Inside, the shop smells of cedar and old paper. It’s quiet but for the rustle of pages as a man flips through a coffee table book. It feels like the bookstore in San Francisco where I worked when I was growing up. I weave through narrow aisles, past sections devot

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