One day at a bookshop

 One day at a book shop,
I met a man selling books,
For money he wanted to swap,
But I really wanted some scrapbooks.

"Got any scrapbooks?" asked I.
"For that's how I'll spend my money."
"No scrapbooks here!" said the guy.
He seemed to find it quite funny.

"We've got some lovely pens,
I'll give you a very fine price."
"I'd rather have some gens."
The man blinked rapidly thrice.

The man seemed exceptionally graceful,
And his manner was strangely amused.
He wasn't what I would call disgraceful,
Great disdain he noticeably oozed.

Like others, he thought I was odd,
Some say I'm a bit tall.
Still he gave me a courteous nod,
As if he thought I was plenty banal.

So in search of my goal I departed,
But before the book shop shop could I leave,
The man came running full-hearted,
"I can help you I believe."

"Books, scrapbooks, you shall find.
Pens, gens, you can get.
You must now open your mind,
And get down to Camden Market.

So to Camden Market I decided to go,
In search of the scrapbooks I craved.
The winds it did eerily blow.
But I felt that the day could be saved.

There were stalls selling apples,
Bricks in many shades.
There were even stalls selling pineapples
People were scattered from many trades

I was greeted by a peculiar lady,
She seemed to be rather tall
I couldn't help thinking she might be quite shady.
I wondered if she was at all banal.

Before I could open my mouth,
She shouted, "For you, I have some scrapbooks!"
I headed towards her, to the south,
Past some pens and books.

"But how did you know?" I asked,
"Do you want them or not?" she did say.
Silently, the scrapbooks she passed.
Then vanished before I could pay.

As I walked away I heard a crackle
Or was it, perhaps, a hushed cackle?