Aziraphale was at his shop, tidying the shelves. Having customers in did have a few drawbacks, one of which being that they never put the books away just how Azi liked. So instead of reading his new novel, he had to go through the shop, collect everything that was in the wrong place, and put it away again. As he worked, he wondered why it was people were so self-absorbed as to not notice where they were putting things. He could almost forgive the books that were on the right shelf but the wrong slot--but how could someone not realize they were off by half the alphabet?

He would have liked to ask Crowley for help, but Crowley wasn't in yet. He would be soon, Azi hoped. If pressed, he'd have to admit to looking forward to Crowley's company more and more often these days.

Aziraphale loves Christmas. Really, he does. People are nicer, more generous, and full of good cheer. Plus, there were pretty decorations. He liked that.

But he didn't love the shoppers. Despite having posted (and mostly kept) regular hours this year, he couldn't get them to leave the store at what he considered a reasonable time. This afternoon, one loud woman had insisted on shopping straight through teatime! When she finally left, Azi shut the door firmly behind her, locked it, and pulled down the shade.

He was tired, his feet hurt, and he was looking forward to a hot cup of cocoa and an evening with his books.