Well, there's something to be said for spending too much time in a bookshop on Saturday morning after all...
You might just discover brilliant books in it.
Like of kids and parents by emil hakl from the excellent Twisted Spoon Press.
Take a father. Add his son. Place them in Prague and watch them wander about from pub to pub. Listen to their rambling conversation. Find yourself in literary heaven.
(I'm always quoting chunks of books out of context and it never really works but I'll do it again because I just have to ok?)
"Boy was I glad to get a chance to read Joyce's Ulysees back when I had my pancreas operated on, Iva brought it to the hospital, because I'd asked her to bring some really thick book, I'd meant something like Melville or Victor Hugo, I'd even have enjoyed reading Kipling again after so many years, but Iva just took all the thick books off the shelf, looked at them and put the thickest in her bag and that turned out to be a copy of Ulysees, which someone had forgotten at my place at some point...It wasn't you by any chance was it?"
"No, I've got my copy at home. I've started reading it two or three times over the years but have given up every time somewhere around page fifty."
"Oh well, I finished it, you know I was reading it so attentively, like nothing before because I was thinking that it might just be the last thing I get to read in this world! I was taking in every word, not that I understood any of it, but at the time I didn't care...This sort of literature - what's called belles lettres - is mainly for people who otherwise don't get a lot out of life, it's for miserable bastards, you know. Everybody else, those who are healthy and have money, they only look at it as a bit of light, tedious entertainment before falling asleep."