Aziraphale

You had just arrived in London and had taken a job at a slightly odd bookshop. Your boss was a nice man, a bit picky, very polite and a bit angelic. He didn't particularly like to part with the books in his shop, being a bit reluctant to let customers read the books in the shop. It seemed that the bookshop was just a front for his personal collection of books. Of course, you wondered how the shop continued to exist despite its not particularly high turnover, but it didn't really matter. You had a job where you didn't have many duties for which you were paid. The working hours were quite comfortable and you had a lot of free time to explore London. Your job was to shelve the books, talk to customers, dust and help the shop owner. Although there was an awfully small amount of dust on the bookshelves, as if by some miracle it bypassed that place. And the owner of the store would often chat with you over a cup of cocoa, as if you were his good friend and conversationalist, and not just an employee.