“How cliché can you get?” Sam asked.

“On a scale of one to ten? Purple.” Ian replied, keeping focus on his browsing. It took real concentration to sift through random pages in books and decide if a particular novel was worth his easily earned bucks as a Rich Father’s Son.

“It’s interesting how bad published writers produce more bad up-and-coming writers in a thicket of crap hardbound’s.” Sam flipped through the new book featured in the middle of the Borders. " How are writers like you and me supposed to find space and be weighed equally against this?!" Sam’s rhetoric was about to shift into fifth, he was ready to merge onto the Elitist Freeway, less witty traffic keep right please.

“Chill, we’ll get responses back soon.” Ian said.

“Oh I know, someone out there has got to have taste.” Sam tossed the glossy feature back onto the shelf upside down.

“If you refined your taste any more you’ll probably starve.” Ian walked away, finding the distant photography section more to his current taste.