A long time ago, when even the thought of war had not yet crossed our minds, I asked friends and acquaintances to write down any memories they had of the bookstores in their neighborhoods. For our generation, who spent our youth without the internet, bookstores were a bridge to a distant, unfamiliar world.

Later, many of those bookstores disappeared, whether for cultural or economic reasons, or were transformed into something else. And perhaps, with the passing of years, they too will fade from our collective memory.

My intention in gathering these writings in these days of horror is not to create a research document, but rather to offer a narrative of our being, of a time not so long ago, when books and films were like windows that held fragments of light.